


Tradition Necessitates Coercion

by AmuseMe



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Coercion, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Future Mpreg, Human Language, Kidnapping, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Bluestreak, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Spark Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:04:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2294465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmuseMe/pseuds/AmuseMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink Meme fic. Official Praxian customs regarding courtship and marriage also means bride kidnapping. Bluestreak decides that he's ready to take on a mate and start a family. So after being granted permission from his guardians, he kidnaps the mate that he wants and hides him away for a bit to 'seduce' him into the idea.  Except the unsuspecting bride-to-be isn't an Autobot. Far from it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The kink meme prompt this is based on can be found here: http://community.livejournal.com/tfanonkink/3587.html?thread=4660995#t4660995
> 
> Right! Many of you will recognise this from the kink meme replies. Please heed the warning tags. Any other warnings that arise will be added as tags later on.

**The Past: Praxus, Cybertron**

Praxus was cold tonight and as a result, so was he.

He lay on a coarse ledge outside, buoyed on the prominent curve of his chestplates, but he appeared oblivious of any other discomfort. Instead he zeroed in on the party he was observing from the opposite building, spying on the nobles who were conversing so carefree inside their lavish surroundings – _and dear Primus was that a cape?_ – while he was freezing his poor aft off on that ledge.

The young assassin decided that he should demand a portable heater for his next mission. Doorwingers, such as he, tended to be quite sensitive to low temperatures.

But now was not the time to stew on the unfairness of life. With a small puff of air, he fondled his sniper rifle absently, one optic spiralling wider as he adjusted the scope he was peering into. His target had disappeared and the youngling's optic lazily roved to and fro trying to locate the old bag of bolts he was assigned to kill tonight.

Ah…there he was, lounging around and surrounded by a gaggle of fawning femmes.

Bluestreak's target was a senator of rather high profile and was currently sharing hi-grade with another senator whom the assassin recognised as Ratbat, from Kaon. Ratbat was sly, cunning and decked from head to pede in purple plating…not unlike most Kaonites. Unlike his target, Ratbat had only had his bodyguard for company – a tall, formidable-looking individual wearing a visor and mask.

The assassin's doorwings twitched with appreciation at the sight of the bodyguard. The mech had broad shoulders, long legs and an unfamiliar alt-mode. A good part of the bodyguard's chestplate appeared transparent, much like a pleasure-bot's or a Seeker's cockpit but somehow the assassin knew that it served another function than just aesthetics. Though what an attractive chestplate it was.

It was then that the bodyguard turned his helm to the side to look at the large bay window and subsequently at the assassin that lay in the darkness just beyond it. When their gazes directly met, the youngling immediately stilled, body locking up lest he gave his position away.

_Look away, I'm not here, you're just being paranoid, and I bet you're not being paid enough for this job, look away…_

Visor to scope. Honestly, what a creepy stare.

The yellow visor seemed to penetrate through the scope and straight into the youngling's flickering blue optic.

_Slag!_

But the assassin was too well-trained, _too damn good_ at what he did to panic like an amateur. He remained calm, despite the foreign prickling he could feel in his processor, itching at the back of his helm like the beginnings of a subtle case of rust. _That_ he chalked it down to the bodyguard's unrelenting stare. Definitely not a virus attack, he firmly told himself.

Thankfully the targeted senator did him a big favour by pivoting his chassis, presumably to leer at the loose-panelled slut standing behind him. That was the assassin's chance and without hesitating, he squeezed the trigger. The target was terminated instantly with a shot straight to the spark.

The assassin didn't stick around to watch the chaos unfolding. He folded his rifle with three brisk movements and stashed it into his subspace before hightailing it out of there.

 

* * *

 

There were two mechs and a femme occupying a large sitting room. The two mechs – both average looking grounders – were quietly playing a game of holo-cards while the femme was watching a drama series being broadcasted on a good-sized monitor screen. All three glanced up the moment the doors swished open and the young assassin stepped in. He looked absolutely miserable.

"Didja have a good time, Blue?" the femme asked teasingly.

The young assassin or rather, Blue gave her a withering look and dragged himself into the room, his doorwings slumped low against his back. "Shut up, Lavender. Some stupid guard-drones sniffed me out and a puddle ran into me."

One of the card-playing mechs distastefully eyed up the trail of muck and oil that the assassin left behind. "I'd say."

"It was a vicious puddle okay? It had _teeth_ and guns and was made out of acid rain and I thought it was going to eat me and—"

"Yeah yeah, we get the visual. Big bad puddle. Just ugh, don't forget to clean up the mess."

In retaliation, Blue fell ungracefully onto one of the empty couches with a muffled, tired groan.

"But you got your mark, right?" Lavender questioned.

Before Blue could properly answer, she turned all her attention back onto the show she was glued into. Onscreen, the two protagonists were arguing with each other; a mech and femme with attractive features and polished plating.

" _Oh, Mr Speed Drift, you think that kidnapping me will be enough to make me say yes to your ridiculous courtship proposal_?"

The camera zoomed in closer to capture the actor's expression of impassioned determination.

" _The moment I saw your beautiful optics, I knew I had to have you, my dearest Glitterwing_."

"He looks like he's got a clogged up waste filter," the mech sitting close to Blue dryly commented.

" _How preposterous of you to assume that! My sire will never approve of me bonding to an uncouth brute of such low social standing!_ "

The actor cornered his love interest up against the wall (which wobbled slightly due to bad set design) and deftly pushed her wrists into a pair of shackles he already had bolted above her helm. He looked deep into her wide optics, bestowing upon her a look of utmost intensity before his deep voice rang out.

" _No one knows you are here. You are trapped here—"_ The show's music got louder and his voice deepened, "— _bound by my love and lust and I will not stop until your spark is bonded to mine_."

The music then reached a crescendo when the main protagonist proceeded to dramatically kiss her and the femme onscreen predictably melted in a big puddle of lovesick goo. In the meantime, the femme who was currently watching the show also melted.

"Oh isn't it so romantic?" Lavender swooned while everyone else in the room appeared to have suffered a cpu-downgrade. "I want a handsome, strong mech to come and kidnap me, lock me up somewhere and make love to me until I give in."

The other card-playing mech in the room disgustedly threw his cards on the table, defeated. He took one look at Lavender and the half-assembled rifle she was hugging against her chestplates and promptly made a face. "Ya sure, ye ain't gonna be the one doing the kidnappin' _and spikin'_ instead?"

"I feel sorry for the victim already," his partner muttered.

She scowled and made a rude sign at the both of them. Just then, the doors opened for a second time to admit a massive, red-plated mech who bore the physical characteristics of one hailing from Kaon rather than Praxus. He was followed by a much smaller cycle-bot who shared the same grey colouring as the walls around them.

"Your mission was successful, Blue. Big Boss has already confirmed Senator Axis' untimely termination so tomorrow you should receive your payment," the newcomer boomed at the assassin still sprawled out on the couch.

"Of course my mission was successful, Red," Blue grouched, sulkily lifting up his helm from the couch's metallo-cushion. "I _never_ miss my mark."

"Yeah but you gotta lay low for a bit after this," Red said. "There's a generalised description going around of the perpetrator so maybe you should consider getting yourself a new paintjob too."

Blue sat up in protest, looking scandalised. "How? I wasn't even seen!"

"Ain't really your fault, Blue. If I knew Ratbat was going to show up, I would have told you to leave it for another time."

Understanding dawned upon Blue's fine features and he banged his fist onto his open palm with a loud exclamation. "His bodyguard! I knew it!"

"Precisely. This goes for the rest of you—" Red's yellow optics swept around the room before landing onto the two mechs playing cards, "—Green and Black, I know you two have that joint mark of that mining CEO and his advisor coming up soon. _Make_ sure that Ratbat's bodyguard isn't lurking around. He's dangerous, that one. More than you can imagine."

"Why, Red?" Black questioned with a frown. "What's so great 'bout this bodyguard?"

"He's a Cassette Guardian. And rumour has it that he's a telepath. I'll have his file up so make sure you all study it."

Lavender winced at that. They couldn't afford to be compromised, not in the illicit line of their business. They were all handpicked from the many unwanted orphans littering the streets and underfunded care centres and were trained by the older members in the art of assassination. They had no identities. Instead, they were simply named by the colour of their plating and they all took contracts from a silhouette on a communications screen that had no face, who spoke with a synthesised filter to mask his voice and was only known as 'Big Boss'. If caught, no one would rally to save them. But they were given a sense of purpose, paid well for their efforts and their team was the best family they could ever have…or known. None of them wanted to return to the unacknowledged poverty of their old lives.

"Pft!" Lavender made a derisive noise and turned back to her show. "I should just dump the lot of you and get rid of this stupid designation. _Lavender_. I should be called something fancy! Like Windstreaker or Lightflare or Firedancer or—"

"Ya gotta have something that suits yer look," Black argued. "At least Lavender suits yer colouring, y'know? 'Cause ya got lavender paint, lavender dermal, lavender optics…"

"Yeah well what do you suggest? Oh…oh! I know! How about…no I wouldn't like that…hmm…"

"Transfluid?" Green offered.

She levelled a deadly glare at Green. If only looks could kill. " _What."_

Green held his hands up in a gesture of mollification. "Hey! At least it's the same colour as your paintjob!"

"I'll castrate you and shove it up your exhaust!" she snarled.

The young cycle-mech with the grey plating that had arrived with Red narrowly avoided the power cartridge Lavender had so vehemently lunged towards Green's direction. He sidled up close to Blue and passed a hand down the limp doorwings.

"Hey," Grey called, soft voice barely audible over the shouting match Lavender and Green were having. Red trying to calm down things only seemed to escalate the situation. "You okay?"

Blue turned onto his side and grinned up at the slender mech. He raised both his arms, pressing his hands onto the slender mech's chestplates and marvelled at how similar their grey colouring was. Because of this, Blue was the exception to the 'naming a member after their colour' rule and was given his designation in regards to his big blue optics instead.

"Just tired," Blue admitted, and gave Grey a coy look from underneath his chevron. His hand skimmed up the cycle-mech's smooth face where the dark, red optics gazed down affectionately at him. "I love the colour of your optics."

"Heh. You just like the colour red. Maybe you should have gone for Red, eh?" Grey teased as he hoisted himself up to straddle Blue.

"But it's _your_ red that I like," Blue pouted, his face contorting into the sort of innocence that only sparklings could pull off. "Not just any red!"

Red on the other hand, overheard Blue's words. "What? I ain't pretty enough to frag on my back, is that what you're saying?" he demanded.

"Oh for Primus' sake, get a room!" Lavender snapped as she tightened her stranglehold around Green's neck. "I just had that couch cleaned!"

Then Black piped up. "Hey, can I join you guys?"

Blue began to giggle. He wouldn't exchange his family for anything.

 

* * *

 

Cybertron's political unrest had been brewing for a very long time beneath the veneer of Golden Age denial. The ruling class were wrong to pass off the fledgling Decepticon faction as another ineffectual splinter group. Megatron was ruthless, powerful and he had taken everything and everyone by storm; those who stood up to him were swept away as if they never existed and those who regarded him as their liberator were quickly amalgamated into his growing war machine. Only the Iacon-based Autobots seemed to survive as the only ones able to withstand Megatron's destructive hunger.

But no one was prepared for Praxus' untimely demise and her citizens themselves even more so. Not even Blue and his comrades were prepared.

Green was unfortunate enough to be crushed along with the Council of Praxus – the building had been remodelled and fortified and he had been there to re-map the structure for future missions. Red was gone when the transport he had been on was vaporised, destroyed beyond recognition. Black was missing and reality grimly dictated that he too was a casualty.

Lavender's features were drawn tight, the dermal plating around her optics discoloured and tense with anxiety. She was covered in mechblood and other fluids, with her huge rifle clipped to her shoulder.

"We gotta find a place. A vantage point or something," she told Blue.

Between them, they carried Grey with his arms slung around their shoulders. One of his legs was shorn off below the knee joint; an ugly wound with tubes and wires hanging out of it, their ends messily cauterised or taped. There was so much rubble layering the streets that it was impossible for them to proceed in their vehicle mode without crashing.

"Picking up anything?" Blue asked.

There were two antennas that extended out of Grey's back plating, pointing up at the sky and though he tried to look as alert as possible, his features mirrored Lavender's. "Just 'Con frequencies," he muttered, his words clipped and underlined with pain. "They're everywhere and it's all Seeker talk. Still can't reach Black. Dead air….static."

"How about Big Boss?"

The injured mech shook his helm. "No. Nothing. Just that garbled up message that said we should contact the Autobots."

Lavender sighed heavily through her vents. "Right. Contact the Autobots who aren't here. I think our best bet is to try camp it out, wait until things calm down and then move to the outskirts. With luck, we'll find an evacuation convoy—"

"The Seekers were attacking the refugee routes," Grey interrupted her. "I heard them…but I also heard that there's conflict with the Autobots coming in from the east. Decepticon ground troops delaying them."

Blue wasn't even hearing them. His optics were bright, fixated to the large pile of twisted metal at their left. He could see the charred chassis of a femme, immortalised in her death with her body horribly contorted in mid-transformation. Her paint was blackened and parts of her plating crunched up around the struts of her limbs. She had no inner protoform left – it had all melted into unrecognisable globs.

"Well there's gotta be _something_! If we act smart we can – oh for the love of…Blue are you even listening?"

Bodies like hers now littered the demolished streets, all victims of the unexpected bombings. But that's not what had Blue's spark screaming inside its casing in horror. The dead femme's arms were curled around her torso, protecting a much smaller form... a sparkling. It didn't have a face on it anymore. There was what was left of a mandible, the jagged sockets where the optic coverings once sat and its neck struts had been so thin, already fused together into the femme.

"Blue, snap out of it!"

Death wasn't new to him. He killed mechs and femmes for a living. But this was different. It was one thing to administer a clean shot from the distance to an individual who usually had too much power and credits. He killed quickly and benevolently as it were and sometimes, they joked that it was an act of euthanasia. Their paid contracts were usually corrupt officials or crime lords who were untouched by the law, and better off dead for the good of the public.

"Blue, we have to hide!"

Never _–oh Primus–_ sparklings. Never innocent citizens who had done nothing wrong. This…this was large scale, too cruel and too raw, and too slagging _real._

Everything focused once more and the unpleasant awareness of his surroundings washed over Blue when he was weakly slapped across the face. A dull roar assaulted his audio receivers – the tell-tale sounds of an approaching Seeker trine and Lavender didn't need to slap him again for him to pick up pace with her. They half-dragged Grey over to the side and around the wreckage of a transport car. The building they entered still had its support structure intact, though the doors had been blown inwards by what seemed to be a massive concussion blast from one of the bombs.

They sat there, waiting while the Seekers cut through the sky above them. But they couldn't stay for long, not with Grey wounded as he was.

"Here, I've managed to find these," Lavender said, returning a short while after with two glowing energon cubes in her hands.

Blue threw the cubes a suspicious glance. "Where'd you get those?"

She didn't answer and handed Grey one cube before consuming from the other.

"Where'd you get them?" Blue asked again, a little louder.

"Does it matter where I got them?" she snapped as she shoved the half-empty cube into his hands. "Finish it and let's get the slag out of here."

The sky was tinged orange, illuminated by the raging fires that still burned throughout Praxus. They trudged onwards; hiding when necessary but their dire situation was already starting to take its toll on Grey. Their vents were labouring in the oily, smoky air and they sometimes had to stop just to clear out their clogged filters. Occasionally, they'd encounter a few survivors on the way, but no one wanted to group together – everyone was rushing blindly, too intent on finding that refugee convoy.

"Just as well," Lavender said. "They'd only slow us down."

"I'm slowing you down," Grey whispered hoarsely.

A ghost of a smirk passed over the femme's lips. "You're useful. They aren't."

"I-I don't think I'm gonna last much longer."

Blue tightened his grip around Grey's back and tried to smile at him, in an attempt to project some semblance of comfort. Grey avoided his optics.

They travelled for another groon until their luck finally ran out. One of the Seeker trines returning from a bombing run spotted them…and decided to have some fun.

"Gimme your power cartridge," Lavender brashly ordered.

Blue stared at her with wide, bright optics. "What?"

"Just gimme your fraggin' power cartridge!" she shouted, expression stern and voice loud over the rising roar of the Seeker turbines. She roughly extricated her arm from around Grey's waist, leaving the crippled mech to lean heavily onto Blue and thrust her arm out at him, palm facing upwards. "I've only got a fifth of a bar left in mine and you gotta get yourself and Grey to safety. I'll distract them for a bit."

The femme had been the oldest in the group, the most experienced and thus she had been team leader by default. For Blue, she was the caretaker he never had. She _cared_ for him, for all of them, and that's all that mattered to him.

He obeyed and watched her unhappily as she sprinted towards the opposite direction, gracefully jumping over debris so she could reach a location high enough to target those Seekers. Without its power cartridge, his rifle was now useless to him so he tossed it away. It cluttered into the dust, a stark reminder of how hopeless he felt in their current ugly circumstance.

"Just leave me, Blue," Grey begged. "I'm dead weight, I'll only get you killed."

Blue wordlessly growled at him, annoyed that Grey would even suggest such a ridiculous thing and stubbornly dragged him away from the open street. The sounds of laserfight reached his audios the moment he laid Grey onto the ground.

"I'm gonna check what's going on. Stay here, okay?" Blue instructed.

Grey stared at him incredulously and then gave a dry bark of a laugh. "I'll make sure not to hop away too far."

There was a deafening crash that shook the building around them. Blue glanced agitatedly behind him and stood up so he could rush to the entrance. He reached it just in time to see two Seekers trailing smoke overhead; one of them in root mode with a wounded thruster. Lavender was jumping along a series of structure beams that stuck out like outstretched fingers connected to the building she had been shooting from. She created a cloud of dust when she landed into a crouch.

But neither of them noticed the third Seeker who had materialised on a ledge behind her and he looked absolutely furious, his wings torn up from where he had apparently crashed into the ground. And as she was going to make herself over to Blue, the Decepticon killed her with a single shot that caused her entire chest to explode outwards. She collapsed, with faceplates were still frozen in an expression of unpleasant wonder, even as she lay there sprawled on her back.

Blue recklessly barrelled out into the open just as the Seeker took off into the air. The young assassin snatched the rifle from Lavender's dirty, still-warm grip and didn't even bother connecting with the weapon's inbuilt targeting software and instead he steadily levelled the rifle to point directly at the Seeker's slowly retreating form. He didn't allow himself to think but allowed his body to go through the motions of firing two successive shots at the enemy before power cartridge's display flashed empty.

The Seeker plummeted straight down.

Blue stood swaying on his pedes, appearing quite forlorn and lost. Lavender's favourite rifle slipped from his lax fingers. He couldn't even look at her, refusing to further solidify her death with that one last visual. Instead, he stumbled back inside, numb with shock and fell onto his knees in front of Grey.

"She's dead, isn't she?" the other mech rasped out.

Blue couldn't answer. He stared with unfocused optics off to the side, his mouth pinched tight, trying hard not to openly mourn.

"I'm sorry…" Grey reached over with shaking servos, trying to touch Blue's leg but he was so weak that his hand just slid off and flopped to the ground. "I'm sorry we all failed you."

"We'll make it, somehow," Blue blurted out, voice raw with emotion.

"Yeah, you'll definitely make it."

"No, _we._ "

"Blue…" the cycle-mech sighed and he looked so tired and worn at that precise moment. "I didn't wanna tell you and Lavender. There's a crack in my lasercore and it's been draining me all this time."

"What?!" Blue gaped. "And all this time you…you had your communications array activated…?"

Grey's warm red optics were already fading but he was smiling sadly. "I-I didn't wanna worry you…"

"Don't you dare abandon me!" Blue's expression twisted with grief, mouth opening wide open to scream. "I don't wanna be alone again! Don't you dare! Don't you fragging dare leave me, you glitch!"

The ground was vibrating violently beneath them and panels detached from the walls while the bombings began anew. Blue began to wail – a shrill dirge of sorrow before everything collapsed around him. His whole world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Present Day: The Ark, Earth**

"—it never really occurred to me what would happen if the volcano actually started to erupt again. Isn't it supposed to be extinct? Wheeljack said it was dormant but I hope that it doesn't decide to become all active again while we're all recharging 'cause that would suck wouldn't it? But Wheeljack's insanely smart and he said that we'll know way beforehand and besides, he put in some preventative measures to stop the volcano from erupting. Though I'm sure glad that Perceptor and Beachcomber were there with him considering everything goes boom around him—"

Bumblebee chuckled and gave Bluestreak a playful nudge. "Don't be silly, I doubt anything like that's going to happen anytime soon."

They strolled down the _Ark's_ main corridor; Bumblebee with a relaxed smile on his face, Bluestreak chattering away about everything and nothing with his arms crossed behind his helm.

"Statistically, the base attacked by Decepticons is more likely to happen than having the volcano blow up," Bluestreak mused.

"Wheeljack's laboratory blowing up the base is even more likely to happen," Bumblebee snorted. He stopped outside the rec room and rocked back and forth on the wheels lining on the edge of his pedes. "Listen, I gotta go pick Spike and Carly up… I'll see you later."

Bluestreak grinned and after bidding goodbye to the minibot, turned to enter the rec room. It was practically empty at this time of the day – most Autobots were still out doing their shifts – so Bluestreak meandered around the messily strewn chairs to plop himself down onto the couch in front of the television screen Wheeljack built especially for them. He sat quietly, zapping through the channels and wondered why human day broadcasting tended to comprise of absolutely nothing worth watching. He finally settled for a talk show, but only because the presenter hosting the show seemed to have the ability to talk at the speed of sound. It was fascinating to watch…to a point.

He was so absently engrossed into it that he didn't notice how his thoughts began to wander away; memory cells he wished he could never access again slowly bleeding their information into his current cache.

The girl on the show that was being interviewed giggled and blushed. "Tee hee, my favourite colour is blue!"

_Grey gave him a suggestively coquettish look. "My favourite colour is Blue."_

Bluestreak immediately changed the channel to a 24hr news network. It showed the aftermath of a massive earthquake that hit a heavily populated country Bluestreak didn't quite recognise. It was as if Omega Supreme decided to stomp through the city – buildings cracked while others had crumbled, upheaved tarmac, cars smashed by the debris and the miserable faces of the citizens as they were being guided by others wearing emergency service uniforms.

_Lavender stood, surrounded by the destruction of Praxus. Her empty lasercore was visible through the jagged plates of her destroyed chestplate. She was scowling, accusation written all over her faceplates. "Why didn't you join us?"_

This time he settled for a sports channel. Nice and neutral.

 _Survivor's guilt_ , he had been gently told after he had been rescued by the Autobots. He knew he jabbered on and on because it kept his thoughts occupied. And he also knew that a lot of his friends tolerated it, even got used to it, and eventually began to welcome it after they had been clued in by Ratchet. But somehow, it seemed to be getting worse lately and Bluestreak discovered that he was yearning for something more permanent than his friends' comfort. Sure he had his friends to give him company and his…on-off lovers but none of them seemed to move beyond the label of him being a war-traumatised victim.

Thus, he began to resent being coddled in the berth and he resented how none of his lovers were intuitive enough to let him be in charge. Like he wasn't able to handle the responsibility of taking care of his berthmate. Like it wasn't in his spark to be dominant. It been in his mind a lot lately, how he would like to find someone to settle down with, someone who would be strong and flexible enough to hand control to him. But someone who would be fierce enough to keep his interest going. Who would fight beside him as an equal, be loyal to him and the sparklings they would ultimately produce.  

Sadly enough, none of the Autobots met his conditions and those who did…were already taken. He would have never considered any of the Decepticons as candidates had he not caught Smokescreen and Swindle out in the desert…doing things. The sight of Swindle's face expressing something else other than that sly, oily look he always seemed to wear had kick-started Bluestreak's processor to imagine what other Decepticons might look like lost in the throes of pleasure. Normally, Bluestreak should have been guilty for having such thoughts… but he wasn't, especially when his mind kept gravitating to one particular Decepticon. Funnily enough, it was the one mech with the most elusive face of all.

Plus, Smokescreen now owed him a huge, huge favour for keeping his mouth shut.

Bluestreak smiled to himself just fantasising about that certain Decepticon he was already obsessed with.

"Watcha smiling about, Blue?" someone suddenly asked him.

Sideswipe was lucky that Bluestreak had imprinted his and his brother's energy signature a long time ago, or else the poor mech would have found a gun jammed up the soft cables of his throat.

"Oh…oh! Well I'm wondering why the humans decided on eighteen holes specifically for this sport. I mean why not twenty? Or seventeen? Maybe humans have a preference for even numbers, 'cause I kinda noticed that they do. Or maybe it's a Scottish thing. Did you know that golf is apparently from Scotland? But my search results keep coming up with pictures of rowdy-looking humans wearing patterned skirts and there seems to be some running joke that they're unarmoured underneath which totally doesn't fit the image of _golf_ 'cause it looks like a very slow and business-orientated game and—"

"Woah, something like that got you smiling?" Sideswipe gave the TV a cursory glance and promptly frowned. "Pft, looks really boring." He then turned his attention back to Bluestreak and scooted in closer. "Wanna come over to my room? I've just finished shift and I'd love to put an even bigger smile on your face."

Bluestreak shivered slightly as the frontliner traced the edge of one of his doorwings with the tip of his finger and considered the not-so subtle request for a moment. "Okay…but I want to try something fun, just the two of us…will you let me?"

The blue in Sideswipe's optics darkened and his attractive mouth pulled to the side to form a smirk. "Oh? Do tell."

This time, Bluestreak shifted so he could fully face Sideswipe. He gripped the larger mech's shoulders to pull himself close and began to whisper close to the frontliner's helm, knowing how Sideswipe enjoyed it when the vibrations of his voice hit the sensitive audio horns. "I kinda like the idea of you on your back, sprawled out on your berth for my viewing pleasure…"

Sideswipe's optics flickered. "Mm, that _does_ sound good."

"Does it? How about the idea of your hands tied up? If you're good, I won't blindfold you. If you're bad…you'll be helpless and at my mercy but I think you'll enjoy that won't you?" Bluestreak pressed a soft kiss onto Sideswipe's cheek and allowed his engine to give a lusty little rev. "I bet by the time I'm done with you, you'll be dripping wet for me."

Bluestreak expected Sideswipe to make a contemplative 'hm' as if the idea didn't sit quite right with him, and the red-plated mech certainly didn't disappoint.

"I have a better idea," Sideswipe started.

Ah there it was.

Bluestreak plastered an inane smile on his face and waited.

"…How about I handcuff you instead and have my wicked way with you?"

"You let Sunstreaker have his wicked way with you all the damn time," Bluestreak complained. "Why can't I?"

"Well yeah but it's Sunny!"

Sideswipe laughed, as if it was the most obvious explanation in the world and Bluestreak felt like strangling the selfish bastard.

"So fucking what?" Bluestreak snapped with an angry flare of his energy field.

Startled, Sideswipe recoiled back as if he'd been hit by a whip. "But—"

Bluestreak swiftly interrupted him, "You don't trust me? Because you certainly trusted Tracks – I saw him giving it to you good in the inventory room like a two-credit whore from Kaon the other day _by the way_ – so don't give me that slag that it's _Sunny_ 'cause we both know it's got nothing to do with that. Or is it because you think my spike's not adequate for the likes of your valve? I can tell by the stupid look on your face that it's news to you that I even _have_ one, and yes I know how to use it quite well, thank you very much. In fact, I was a slaggin' pro with it. Or is it that your precious alpha pride can't bear the idea of being bent over by—"

 Bluestreak placed his hand on his chest and feigned mockery with a roll of his optics.

"—little, innocent Blue whose willpower has the consistency of putty. Aw, the poor dear, don't be too harsh to him, he's still traumatised, but he's certainly a real cutie isn't he? Just dial down your audios so you won't have to hear him yabber on while you fuck him. You think I don't know the jokes being said about me behind my back?"

Sideswipe was still sitting there, looking absolutely shell-shocked as the young Praxian stormed out with an angry flick of his doorwings.

 

* * *

 

Prowl's office doors swooshed open to admit Bluestreak inside.

"Sir, I know it's really short notice," Bluestreak said. "But I need that time off now."

The Autobot second-in-command appeared harried and overworked. He wasn't even sitting down, instead opting to stand up as he was sorting out piles of datapads. Bluestreak had offered many times in the past to help his fellow Praxian, but Prowl would always flatly refuse. Only Jazz was capable of dragging Prowl away from his beloved datapads.

"I would have preferred it if you had sent in a written request." Prowl didn't even look up. "That way it can be processed properly according to the schedule."

"I want to invoke our old bonding custom. I've decided on my perfect mate."

This time, Prowl deemed Bluestreak's words important enough to abandon the datapad he was holding. The tactician's ice blue optics met Bluestreak's gaze. "This isn't a decision to be taken lightly. Are you positively sure?"

All Bluestreak needed to do was nod. Prowl knew him well enough to know when he was serious.

"Well then...I will have to rearrange my current plans," Prowl sighed and he sat down heavily on his chair.

"Will it make things difficult for you?" Bluestreak asked as he quickly neared the desk and moved around it to stand behind the tactician. With great care and gentleness, he began to knead the stiff wires at the back of Prowl's neck, eager to ease his appointed guardian's tension. "I don't mind postponing it if it'll make your life easier."

"Mm no, it's not that. Southern Japan's been hit by a strong earthquake and Optimus has just agreed to send in a small relief team to help out and also to check whether there's been any Decepticon influence. You were on it but I can easily switch you out…" A pause. "Who is your chosen mate?"

"You know it has to be a secret," Bluestreak chided as he inserted his slim fingers into Prowl's doorwing joints. "Who's going to Japan?"

"Well. Optimus and I. Ratchet and the Protectobots naturally. Beachcomber, Inferno, Grapple and Hound." Prowl took a moment to groan, helm lolling to the side while the tension slowly left his body thanks to Bluestreak's clever ministrations. "I suspect that I will replace you with Sideswipe…his piledrivers will probably be of use. Jazz will be in charge here while we are gone and Hoist will be the medic on call. Your chosen mate is not…in that list, is he?"

"No, no, don't worry," Bluestreak assured, trying to hide his growing excitement.

With Prowl and Optimus gone, he'll be able to move around relatively freely. In fact, he had already prepared somewhere secluded for such an event quite some time ago and did his research, but considering who his chosen was…it would be difficult. Very difficult. Also, he'll have to watch out for Jazz…but he was sure he could rope Jazz into helping him out. And Smokescreen of course. He continued to massage around Prowl's hinges, even as Jazz entered the office a few scant moments later.

"Oh Prowler, I knew it!" Jazz cried out and struck out a dramatic pose in a deliberate show of bad acting. "You've been having an affair with your sexy, young ward behind my back!"

"It was inevitable that I would have succumbed to my base urges and allowed Bluestreak to seduce me with his deadly massaging techniques," Prowl deadpanned, tone flat and dry as the Sahara. "Furthermore, please stop taking acting tips from that 'As the Kitchen Sinks' drivel. It's unbecoming."

"I suspect that I'll forever rue the day I coaxed that unique sense of humour of yers out," Jazz lamented.

"Hi Jazz!" Bluestreak beamed and wiggled his doorwings. "I found your bondmate overworking himself as usual."

Jazz vocalised a series of chastising clicks and crossed the space between the door and Prowl's desk with such quiet, smooth grace that would forever have Bluestreak admiring him just for that alone. But then again, Jazz _was_ the head of Spec Ops. Bluestreak was aware of two sides of Jazz. The Jazz who portrayed himself as carefree, enthusiastic and fun…and the Jazz who was perfectly capable of plugging into another mech's cortex just to hack past the firewalls and tear core programming inside out without an ounce of regret. Primus knew how many other sides to the mech were there.

But he made Prowl happy, treated Bluestreak with respect and in return, Bluestreak was staunchly loyal to the both of them.

"Here, lemme take over…so Blue, what's up?"

"He's found his perfect mate," Prowl answered before Bluestreak could. "I've granted him leave starting from tomorrow."

Jazz's visor brightened with pleasant surprise and his grin seemed to take over his entire face. "Ya don't say…who is it?"

"Sorry Jazz, can't say," Bluestreak apologised and then shrugged. "Tradition and all. I'll officially announce it after I'm done and bring him over for your approval though."

Jazz pretended to wipe a tear and his vents imitated sniffles. "Our little Bluestreak's finally gonna bring home a bride…oh wait…haha, hang on. You two know that we have to tell Optimus about this, right?"

Bluestreak visibly slumped.

 

* * *

 

Even with the mask on, Optimus Prime looked horrified and scandalised after Prowl finished describing how Praxians courted each other and Bluestreak secretly suspected that their leader was a complete prude when it came to interfacing.

"…And the partner, uh the one that's being kidnapped, consents to this?" Optimus tentatively enquired.

"Usually, sir," Prowl promptly answered.

Bluestreak swore he saw steam coming out of Optimus' smoke stacks.

" _Usually?!_ "

"If the kidnapped partner continues to remain unwilling towards the end of the courtship, then both parties will usually both go their separate ways. Only the most unscrupulous of suitors would seriously harm their chosen mate…but it would not be considered a Praxian courting tradition by then and more an actual kidnapping and rape case."

"So this is something that's prearranged between the couple, I gather? Just to adhere to tradition…" Prime trailed off, distracted by Jazz's arm shooting up into the air, like an over-enthusiastic student trying to get the attention of a teacher. "Er yes, Jazz what is it?"

"I remember the first time Prowl kidnapped me," the saboteur said with the dreamy tone of one romantically reminiscing the past. "He swept me off my feet – literally – and locked me up, tied me spread-eagled on the berth and then proceeded to—"

"Jazz, I doubt our Prime will enjoy hearing the private details of our union," Prowl coolly interjected.

Bluestreak gave both Jazz and Prowl fleeting glances and quickly stepped forward in hopes that he could get this over and done with before Prime started asking _too_ many questions. "I'd really love it if you were to grant me this, sir. I mean—" He purposely averted his gaze in a shy manner, not liking the fact that he was forced to play the pity card with one of the mechs he respected the most, "—I've finally found someone I want to spend the rest of my function with, and hopefully if everything works out, bond with…and I want to honour my heritage, or what's left of it…But sir, I hope you don't think I'm going to do anything disreputable!"

Predictably, the light in Optimus' electric blue optics softened into a warm glow. "I would never think that of you, youngling. Very well. I trust Prowl's judgement on the matter…I look forward to meeting your mysterious chosen one after I return from Japan."

Bluestreak executed a grateful, smart salute. "Thank you sir!"

Pity he had to lie a little for that last bit.

And then Jazz had to cheekily ruin things by saying, "I can lend ya my bondage toys, Blue…if ya want."

No, that definitely _was_ steam coming out of Optimus' smoke stacks.

 

* * *

 

Soundwave was a brilliant mech.

Competency was his middle name. He was efficient, ruthless, and his telepathy made him a fearsome opponent. He expected his Cassetticons to be on the same performance level as himself. Hence why he pushed himself and them into a bi-weekly training regime. It involved a two-team combat scenario where he evaluated their strengths and weaknesses.

Despite all that, Soundwave was also predictable. He liked sticking to a routine and though he was quite flexible and adaptable in his ways, he was equally as inflexible in others. He hardly deviated from his schedule.

And now it was pelting down with rain and Soundwave didn't know where Ravage was.

All his other symbiotes were accounted for and slotted inside his chest. Yet his most obedient symbiote was not answering any of his pings. He could register his spark signature in the area, could _feel_ him nearby but Ravage refused to come to him. Soundwave held his weapon ready and proceeded cautiously through the remote forest he was in. His pedes sank in the undergrowth, one slow step at a time while his visor scanned the dank, murky surroundings.

Save for the smatterings of organic life registering on his sensors, there was nothing else. Soundwave paused and looked around, his helm turning from left to right.

The rain had abruptly stopped.

Mist swirled around his pedes, its ghostly tendrils trying to lap at his lower legs. Trees around him stuck up like obscure tubular shapes in the fuzzy blackness, and he was tall enough to note how the branches seemed to point directly at him like taunting fingers. Unfazed by the depressing sight, the telepath sent a proximity sweep around him.

There was a blip on his sensors, giving him a location of someone close by. He repeated the search and the dot on his internal map layout moved to the other end. Then the dots doubled, tripled, quadrupled before disappearing with a buzz of static that danced in front of his optics. Soundwave's helm twitched to the side and he refreshed his optical feed. That cleared…though now his gyros were sending him different readings when all he should have been getting was one value that said he was standing perfectly upright.

Alert and wary, the Decepticon switched the parameters of his systems to combat mode. But what good was that going to be when warning windows kept popping up in front of his optics and then kept popping out before he could determine what the problem was. By the time it dawned onto him, it was already too late. The mist that blanketed the area around him was not a naturally occurring phenomenon at all. All this time, his vents had been drawing in contaminated chemicals that tampered with his systems and fed him false readings.

An angry screech of white noise burst out of Soundwave's vocaliser and he reared aggressively when he heard the dull _pop_ of a silencer too close for comfort. There was a sudden sting of something sharp embedding into his main throat cable. His legs refused to obey him as he tried to whirl around for a counter attack and he had just enough time to rip out the sedative dart he had been hit with before he lost complete consciousness. Soundwave dropped onto the soggy ground in a crumpled mess of limbs.

The mist began to clear quickly after that and a shadowy figure of another mech materialised from the gloom to step forward. There were a few trails of smoke that still lingered around a series of large nozzles that lined the armour of his shins and a layer of thin plating swivelled down to cover them. The mech treaded cautiously towards Soundwave's still body and when he reached it, he stopped and stared down.

"What," the attacker flatly announced to the unconscious mech, "an anti-climax you turned out to be."

"Shut up, Smokey," Bluestreak admonished as he also neared the scene, weaving around the trees to avoid the low-lying branches from clipping his doorwings. "You're just sore 'cause it was supposed to be your day off."

"You're blackmailing me into helping you uphold some stupid tradition that's long dead," Smokescreen accused, turning around.

"I _want_ to do this," Bluestreak insisted. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and anchored the strap around one of his tyres. "Besides with Soundwave I don't think there would have been any other way."

Smokescreen watched with mild exasperation as the young gunner crouched next to the Decepticon and quickly began to pull out of his subspace the equipment he needed to complete his task. Bluestreak had the world's happiest grin on his face and he was practically vibrating with excitement while he restrained Soundwave's wrists together with stasis cuffs and disconnected the cannon from the Decepticon's shoulder mount.

"Wow. You couldn't have chosen anyone better?" Smokescreen snidely asked. "Why him?"

Bluestreak's big blue optics flared brilliantly. "Why Swindle?" he countered defensively.

No, Smokescreen couldn't claim that he had chosen better himself…not with _Swindle_ out of all mechs. But attraction was a strange thing indeed, especially when they were all confined on a foreign planet so far away from home. Instead, he placed a hand on his hip and drawled out, "You're really serious about this, aren't you."

"Of course I am! I keep telling you that this isn't some half-aft decision!" Bluestreak exclaimed, making wild gestures with his hands to prove his point. He stood up, glanced down at Soundwave, and then promptly pursed his lips in contemplation. "Okay, I'm gonna need some help here."

It started to rain again, clearing away the last of Smokescreen's mist.

"You chose a suitable place, right?" Smokescreen questioned as he idly inspected his fingers.

"Yeah. Abandoned nuclear bunker not far from here. Humans were really paranoid back then—"

"And they still are," Smokescreen smoothly interrupted before Bluestreak could launch into a history of the place. "Are you sure it's abandoned? I doubt you want anyone turning up while you're in the middle of heh, putting your love into Tall, Dark and Creeptastic here."

Bluestreak actually appeared offended on Soundwave's behalf. "He's _not_ Creeptastic!"

"Fine," Smokescreen sighed, rolling the light in his optics. "Let's use 'misunderstood' if it makes you feel better."

"…well okay, he _is_ a little creepy. But it only makes him more mysterious."

"You mean it only makes him more ominous. Like a bad omen."

The gunner huffily stamped his pede into the ground but only end up squishing mud everywhere. "Frag it, Smokescreen!"

"Well he _is_ supposedly Megatron's third-in-command!" Smokescreen snapped and he threw his arms up, showing his disapproval of Bluestreak's choice of mate. "And the only _loyal one_ out of the lot too! What do you want me to say!? Congratulations to the happy couple, I hope he doesn't eat your spark during your honeymoon?"

But Bluestreak did not yield to the argument. Instead he crossed his arms across his chest and petulantly looked away, his doorwings stubbornly held high. "Whatever. If it bothers you so much, just go. I'm not going to keep you here if all you're going to do is insult my judgement."

"Bluestreak," Smokescreen sighed.

"What."

The young sniper's mouth was set in that surly, flat line. Fat raindrops rolled down his face; the water temporarily lit up like faint lines of blue from the bright glow of his optics. The disapproving expression that Smokescreen wore relaxed considerably at the sight. Really, Bluestreak was just too cute for his own good.

"I'm just worried about you, Bluestreak," he tried again. "I'm not going to leave you here lugging that 'Con around on your own."

The look of gratitude that Bluestreak gave him was almost palpable but it didn't make him feel better. Especially when they nearly broke their backstruts trying to carry the Decepticon through the forest and into the area Bluestreak had specified. Somehow they managed to make it. Getting in wasn't a problem – human security systems were pointless to a Cybertronian. The two Autobots and their unconscious cargo traversed through a tunnel that was practically dug into the mountain side and as it was designed to allow passage for a military convoy to pass through, it was adequate in size for them in root mode. When they reached a massive empty chamber that appeared as if it was also designed to store said military convoy, Smokescreen had to admit to himself that he was impressed. Bluestreak had rigged standing lights running off an external power source and set up a large gel mattress he scavenged from one of the Ark's numerous storage rooms.

Of course, what was even more impressive, were the rings embedded into the wall at the head of the mattress.

"Prepared I see," Smokescreen remarked casually and he dumped Soundwave's legs unceremoniously onto the mattress.

Bluestreak was holding Soundwave's other end and he wobbled precariously, letting out a wheeze as his knees buckled from the sudden displacement of weight.

"H-Hey, watch it!"

He was forced to drop Soundwave rougher than intended and he gave Smokescreen a dirty look as if to say 'now look what you've done'.

Smokescreen shrugged unapologetically.

Bluestreak's doorwings made several stiff flicks that spelled out 'fuck you too', though Smokescreen answered the insult with a cheeky grin of his own. With a frustrated huff, Bluestreak fell to his knees by the Decepticon's side so he could clip the restrained arms onto the rings. He then swiftly searched Soundwave's subspace, making sure that there weren't any more weapons left.

"What an invasion of privacy," Smokescreen mocked as he picked up Soundwave's signature rifle, bringing it close to his face so he could study it in detail.

"Oh shush, Smokey. You're just jealous that my Decepticon's handsomer than yours."

"You sure he's got a face underneath all that, kiddo? Could have a faceplate like ole' Shockerz, you know."

"I'm sure he does. And if he doesn't…well, I don't care."

Smokescreen snorted. "Admirable."

Bluestreak was too busy to answer; his hands making almost reverent passes over the unconscious mech's chestplates, fingertips trailing around the gold lining as they sought out the manual clasps that would enable him to open it. But when he found none, he frowned and bit his lower lip before looking up sheepishly at Smokescreen.

"Um, can you help me get it open?"

"Honestly," Smokescreen gently chided as he knelt down opposite Bluestreak with Soundwave between them. "You knew it wasn't going to open up _that_ easily."

Smokescreen recoiled as Bluestreak invaded his personal space, pushing that ridiculously earnest face of his so close that the tips of their nasal ridges brushed up against each other.

"Are you going to plug in and manually override the command?" Bluestreak anxiously asked.

"And get mauled by whatever firewall he's got?" Smokescreen replied. "Yeah right. I may be suicidal but I ain't _that_ suicidal. Remember that time when Blaster got seriously fragged? I was there with Ratchet trying to get to his pump and we had to manually open it…so, I learnt a trick or two."

The older Praxian felt around the bottom of the lining and his fingertips skimmed around the raised edge several times. When he found the hidden hinges, he made a triumphant sound and directed a precise electrical jolt to activate them. Soundwave's chestplate promptly clicked open.

"Voila!"

"They're not going to wake up, are they?" Bluestreak asked again, critically watching Smokescreen as he inserted his fingers into the Decepticon's chest tray so he could click the symbiotes out of their slots.

"Relax," Smokescreen crooned while he carefully extracted Laserbeak. "They were synced up. What happens to the master also happens to the pet. But you do realise that it's not just Soundwave you're gonna have to convince right?"

Bluestreak grimaced at that. "Yeah…just like disciplining sparklings right?"

Smokescreen glanced at Bluestreak dubiously. "Why, do you have experience disciplining sparklings?"

A blank look. "No."

"Hmph. Good luck then. You're gonna need it. But that's not what I was referring to."

Bluestreak deliberately avoided answering. He waited for Smokescreen to finish taking out all the Cassettes and fidgeted as the other mech employed some other trick he must have learned from Ratchet – triggering their transformation sequence, or at least partly so he could lock a stasis chip onto their bodies and disarm them. Then, Smokescreen sat there while Bluestreak carried them in his arms to an adjacent chamber which served as some sort of communal area. He had, earlier, 'borrowed' Wheeljack's laser cutter and used it to fashion a new doorway – at least one that was big enough for himself fit through. While the room itself was empty, save for a few chairs left behind, Bluestreak had also laid down some spare berth mattresses and metallo-cushions on the floor.

"Hope you guys don't cause _too_ much trouble for me when you wake up," he muttered, laying the Cassettes gently on the cushions. "

Right next to them was Ravage sprawled on one of the mattresses, sedated with offline optics and a stasis-collar around his neck. Bluestreak contemplated reaching over to tweak that stub of a tail. It was awfully tempting but then he remembered what it was like to be bitten by that particular symbiote and thought better of it. So he turned and left, but not before activating the portable forcefield generators he had fitted to the doorway.

Smokescreen still stood some steps away from Soundwave's comatose state, evidently waiting for Bluestreak's return.

"I want a family, okay?" Bluestreak blurted out when the heavy weight of Smokescreen gaze became too much. "I want a mate and sparklings and a _home._ I want someone to love and someone to love me. I don't want to have this empty feeling in my spark forever."

"He's a Decepticon," Smokescreen declared.

"So?"

"I hope you're not doing this as some act of revenge for Praxus—"

Bluestreak whirled around from where he had been prepared to kneel back at Soundwave's side on the berth. His doorwings flicked with irritation as he jabbed a finger into Smokescreen's chestplates.

"What?! No! I like him okay? I actually saw him before I got involved in the war and I've been observing him for a long time now…just, I never considered him as anyone I could possibly consider for courtship but ever since I saw you and Swindle…and now I can't get him out of my head. Just, no one on the _Ark_ does it for me…and I hate it how they treat me like I'm not capable of being responsible…"

Smokescreen smoothly caught Bluestreak by the wrist. "Right. And if you don't persuade him?"

"Then uh, I guess I'll just let him go."

"Sheesh. I knew I should have arranged some sessions with you."

"Pfft," Bluestreak scoffed, wrenching his arm away. "Does Ratchet know that you have absolutely no qualifications for that sort of thing?"

"Who knows and who cares," Smokescreen shrugged. "Hoist seems to think I'm good at it. It's all about picking up the details that no one sees. See the underneath of the underneath. They think they have the perfect pokerface going on and _bing!_ —" Smokescreen flicked Bluestreak's nasal ridge playfully, "—they don't realise that I can see right through them."

Finally Bluestreak's mouth curved into an amused smile. "You're such a liar, Smokey. I know that you answer directly to Prime about everything that goes on base."

"Shh, don't tell! Wouldn't wanna want to tarnish my reputation, now would we?" Smokescreen flashed the other mech a smile that would be better suited on a rogue trying to charm his way out of a robbery. "But it's not as if you're the innocent little 'bot everyone thinks you are."

At that, Bluestreak coyly lowered his gaze and fluttered his doorwings like delicate little wings, his lips drawing into an endearing pout. "I'm not?"

"No you're _not_ , you fraggin' lil' tease," Smokescreen firmly said and he threw an arm around Bluestreak to bring him close. The curved planes of their chests bumped against one another and Smokescreen's optics darkened as he adopted a stern, solemn voice. "Now listen very carefully. I'm going to leave now. I know you can take care of yourself but for the love of Primus, be _careful._ You don't know how he'll react so don't decide to go all nice on him okay?"

Bluestreak obediently nodded.

"Good," Smokescreen continued. "I want you to call in twice a day. If you don't, I'll come down marching here and I won't come alone. Yes?"

"Yes Creator."

"Good boy," Smokescreen praised and seemed to take great joy in giving Bluestreak that patronising pat on the helm. Then his optics brightened and he abruptly began to dig into his subspace. "Ah! Before I forget… here, take this."

Bluestreak stared at the small device he had been given. "What's it do?"

"A little something I…uh, got Swindle to give me. You can remotely connect to it, so set an access code on it, and clip it to Soundwave's head before he wakes up."

Bluestreak tried to shove the device back into Smokescreen's hands. "Take it back. I don't want anything from him and I doubt it'll work anyway—"

"You'll need it," Smokescreen growled. "Because if you don't use it, he'll tear your mind apart."

"What?"

"This—" Smokescreen held the contraption up in the light, "— my dear mech, will block his telepathy. I've read the reports of what Soundwave's capable the moment he invades a mech's cortex and trust me, it ain't pretty. So take it and don't argue."

"…fine," Bluestreak grudgingly conceded.

Satisfied, Smokescreen clicked his vocaliser and turned around to leave. "Remember what I told you…and heh, don't do anything I wouldn't do. Have fun Blue."

Bluestreak just grinned widely at that, acting as if he'll do exactly all the things Smokescreen wouldn't do and much, much more.


	3. Chapter 3

He found himself floating between layers of his subconscious. Though his sensors _were_ processing information correctly, Soundwave felt alienated from his command structure completely – as if he was an outsider, or a guest in a host body. It was as if he was floating in air, weightless with no gravity to pull him down to the present. An odd sort of warmth cocooned him from every side, lulling him into calmness and it wasn't long before that warmth turned into heat, curling through his circuits. He became aware of his sensornet slowly being brought into focus and it tingled like a creature being roused into wakefulness with soft touches from unknown hands that trailed everywhere around him.

But soon Soundwave could feel all that sensation seeping down his lines to pool at his interface. The invisible hands were concentrated there, at the apex of his thighs and Soundwave, completely disconnected to his body, felt his panel click open on its own accord. Almost immediately, the heat intensified and he was rocked backwards as something wet was swiped across the opening of his valve. The foreign action made it quiver and clench, lighting the sensors that lined his rim to a near inferno.

It was a glossa, Soundwave realised. He relaxed back.

Both Rumble and Frenzy possessed overactive interface drives, and sometimes their memory replays leaked into his subconscious during synchronisation. It couldn't be helped, especially if he was in recharge. Soundwave knew that it was easier to just go along with it, especially if all it did was occasionally ease the stress in his frame. And it did feel so good. The tip of that glossa traced around the rim of his valve, teasing it with talented little laps until his hips jerked with need and trails of lubricant began to trickled down his passage.

The imaginary mouth eagerly sucked at him, answering each involuntary clench that his valve gave with unhurried licks. Gentle hands palmed on the inside of his thighs, stroking the thinner plating and pushed his legs further apart until Soundwave felt the comfortable stretch of his muscle cables and the warm waft of air from the other mech's vents. He exhaled noisily as fingers pinched the rim of his valve, but all it did was leave that area hypersensitive to sensation of the other mech's glossa swirling against him, probing into him shallowly. Then his thighs gave tiny tremors when the tip of that glossa began to stab into his valve, mimicking thrusts of a miniature spike and the mysterious pair of lips intimately pressed against his opening, drinking in all the fresh lubricant he produced.

As the pleasure grew, so did his clarity. Soundwave's primary systems began to online slowly when the fog that kept them dormant began to lift. Soundwave wanted to reach down and hold the helm to him but he couldn't move his arms; still trapped within the dream's hold…or perhaps, his Cassette's fantasy. He was aware of his hips shifting, trying to match the glossa's movement and he could feel himself getting wetter, and wetter with the quickening of his spark.

The telepath woke up fully when his overload swept him away suddenly and without warning, pulling his body into a tense arch that caused a strangled groan to escape his vocaliser. Then his memories crashed into him with equal intensity and Soundwave's visor powered on just in time to catch a flash of bright blue. Big, bright blue optics watching him closely. The optics drew back to reveal the young faceplates of an Autobot. The Praxian sniper.

"Primus, you taste so good," the Autobot breathed and the glossa that had licked Soundwave into overload snuck out from the Autobot's plump lips to clean the remaining traces of valve fluids. His too-blue optics then flickered with mirth and he giggled impishly. "Hi, by the way. Did you enjoy that?"

Soundwave stared at him, quite literally stunned. It was a feeling that he seldom felt. The pleasant aftereffects of his overload still buzzed around his circuits and whatever they had used to tranquilise him lingered around his lines, making him sluggish and unresponsive. The dull light of his visor shifted around as he sent a command to cover his interface array. He turned his helm, trying to ascertain where exactly he was.

Grey, concrete, man-made. Underground. There were powerful jammers placed in strategic places around them. No chance of communicating with the outside world. He was lying on a berth. He was restrained with stasis-cuffs that were set on medium power. His Cassettes had been removed from their tray but he could feel that they were nearby. The Autobot was almost certainly armed and he wasn't.

When he got the results of his quick diagnostics check, Soundwave's vents hitched loudly at the error message telling him that his telepathy was effectively blocked. The involuntary panic that made him feel so helpless crept into his cortex and Soundwave lay there as it built quickly and took over him. He thrashed against his bonds with a shrill note of static.

"Stop, stop!" Bluestreak cried out.

The Autobot tried to calm him down by pushing his weight onto Soundwave's shoulders, but that only made it worse. Soundwave's strength abruptly left him when the setting on his stasis-cuffs remotely clicked to high and he slumped back against the berth, unable to do anything but twitch.

"It doesn't hurt, does it?" his captor was saying. "It shouldn't hurt. I only put it there to protect myself you know, until I can trust you enough to take it off. I'm sorry we had to shoot you with that sedative dart, but it was the only way."

Soundwave jerked his helm to the side, optics roving around trying to pinpoint who exactly 'we' was.  As far as he could tell, it was just him and the mech who…pleasured him. His short-range scanners weren't bringing up anything of interest anyway. Megatron would not seek him out anytime soon, not with their last successful raid.

"It's just me and you," Bluestreak assured, smiling in what he thought was a consoling manner. "We're in an old human bunker. Your little mechs are in the next room, safe and sound. I'm not going to hurt them. I'm not going to hurt you. I don't _want_ to hurt you."

"Interrogating me will be a futile endeavour, Autobot," Soundwave finally said.

"I don't want you for that," Bluestreak answered simply and he placed a hand on the Decepticon emblem painted on the flat plane of Soundwave's chestplate. "This doesn't exist for me right about now—" He covered his own emblem with his other hand, "—and neither does this."

The Autobot flinched ever so slightly as Soundwave directed a dark red glare at him. Even recovering from heavy sedation and tied on a berth with stasis cuffs sapping out his energy, Soundwave still had the most unnerving stare he had ever seen. And it clearly stated that Soundwave was far from satisfied with the vague explanation he had been given.

"State your purpose."

That smile was back, as if Bluestreak was happy that he was given the chance to explain his motives. The young mech threw a leg over Soundwave's hips to straddle him. The action caused Soundwave's pelvis to dip down and he belatedly realised that his interface array was still exposed. Thinking that perhaps his programming had not processed the command properly, he resent it again. As Bluestreak leaned forward to drape his body against Soundwave's, his slender hands slowly slid up to cup the side of Soundwave's mask. In response to the unwanted close proximity of the Autobot's energy field enveloping him, Soundwave pressed back against the mattress. Bluestreak was trying to project the feelings of comfort and security, but Soundwave was having none of that and he coldly rejected it with his own hostile energy field. Still, it didn't seem to deter the Autobot.

"Ever heard of Praxian courtship rituals?" Bluestreak murmured, his mouth leaving a wet smear over the surface of the polished facemask and Soundwave could smell his own lubricant faintly on the Autobot's lips. "I want you to be my mate."

Soundwave was speechless. He didn't know what to make of this illogical situation. Was the mech insane? Delusional? Was this some twisted form of interrogation?

"You are insane," Soundwave managed to blurt out, his visor burning bright with the unpleasant implications of Bluestreak's words. He frantically tried to read the other mech's mind, diverting what little power he had that wasn't being eaten up by the stasis cuffs but it was hopeless. And his interface panel was still stuck on open.

"A little," Bluestreak giggled as if Soundwave said something amusing. "But aren't we all?"

"Demand: release the block you have on my panel."

Bluestreak shook his helm and pouted. "If I do that, you won't open it again for me." He pressed another kiss on Soundwave's mask, roughly over where the Decepticon's mouth was underneath. "I'll be patient with your face though, I won't force it…I want _you_ to let me see it."

Ice trickled down Soundwave's lines. He was trapped. He lived to serve the strong. His mind control was _his_ control and it was _his_ unique power. He didn't want to think how much his worth would plummet without it.

"New demand: A secondary interrogator to oversee the current session—" His monotone was already crackling under the strain, "—as stated in article two of the Autobot POW treatment protocol."

"I told you. Our factions don't exist right about now. It's just you and me. So relax, okay? I'll give you the best care. I promise."

The Autobot's wet mouth moved down to taste his throat cables, glossa singling out one of the thicker cords and the energy thrummed through it as denta lightly nipped at it, right where the dart had pierced him. Soundwave's body twitched and when Bluestreak hummed against the vocaliser unit that sat at the base of his neck column, Soundwave was unprepared at the influx of heat he was assaulted with.

Soundwave began to struggle all over again.

 

* * *

 

"I want to make Soundwave my mate and—"

"Say what?!"

"It's an old Praxian custom that—"

"Fuck you and the hovercycle you rode in on!"

"I'm not going to hurt anyone. I-I mean I don't _want_ to hurt anyone—"

"Where's the Boss?"

"Now please guys—"

"Rust you, Autodweeb!"

As expected, Soundwave's Cassettes were _furious._ It was difficult for Bluestreak to explain his intentions over their combined protests and insults that started the moment they saw him stop in front of the forcefield bars. The twins were the ones doing most of the insulting however – the rest were quiet, save for their red-hot glare that spoke volumes. In the end, Bluestreak had had enough.

"Shut up and let me talk!" he snarled out, with such finality in his tone that it startled them into silence. "When you're captured by the enemy, the _last_ thing you do is run your mouth off."

"Ya said ya weren't gonna hurt us," Frenzy mumbled sullenly.

"I don't hurt sparklings," Bluestreak explained.

That had all the symbiotes puff up with hurt pride. "We ain't sparklings, ya glitched Autodork!" Frenzy declared. "We're mechs!"

Well it was a relief. Still that brought its own slew of problems.

Bluestreak flared his doorwings back in a display of annoyance. "But I can change my mind if you keep calling me names!" He took a step closer and the pinkish glow of the forcefield bars lit the fine features of his face, while throwing others into shadow. "And I'll treat you like sparklings if you insist on acting like it."

That got their attention. Bluestreak stared at them, dimly wondering to himself just how he was supposed to treat them and discipline them.

Human culture laughed at him _. _Stepdaddy._  
_

Wow, what an uncomfortable word.

Human culture insisted. _Stepchildren._

How it did _not_ suit the Cassetticons at all. Not the very least. Fraggit, he should stop watching so many soap operas. Too much drama for his liking.

Ravage made a series of binary beeps and clicks.

"What are ya going to do with us?" Rumble translated.

"Nothing. I'm going to keep you here for a bit and then let you go."

Now the Cassetticons looked confused. Bluestreak even caught Ratbat curiously tip his helm to the side.

"So lemme get this straight." Rumble hopped to his pedes and neared the bars, one hand on his hip and a challenging stare on his visor. "Ya got us here. We can't transform, can't contact anyone…ya obviously thought this out well…all so ya can convince the Boss to… _bond_ with ya?" The Cassetticon twin frowned. "Ya gone lost a few bolts in yer head or something?"

So they _had_ been listening, the little twerps.

"Probably," Bluestreak answered honestly.

"And uh…" The light in Rumble's visor narrowed as he turned his helm from left to right, giving his fellow Cassettes almost amused looks. "…what makes ya think that the Boss is gonna go with it?" Rumble snidely asked, his mouth working from side to side.

The expression on Bluestreak's face darkened with exasperation. He knew he wasn't going to hear encouragement and 'go for it!' words from the Cassettes obviously, but seeing their incredulousness in their optics and the mocking tone just grated him the wrong way. He _wanted_ this. And he was going to get it.

"He will," Bluestreak replied confidently.

"Yah ain't exactly his type, y'know," Frenzy piped up with a snort. "Ya a lil…" He began to snap his fingers. "Bro, help me out here. What's that word I'm lookin' for."

"Ya look like the bottom. Submissive-looking," Rumble promptly supplied. "Boss likes 'em strong. _Real_ alpha mechs. Ya dun quite cut it, lil' doorwinger."

This time, Bluestreak was pissed off. He knew they were just goading him but it was such a sore subject with him and he really couldn't help it. The young Praxian mech pulled his rifle out of subspace, bolted it together with two swift movements and initiated its most powerful mode. The resulting whine the rifle produced as its power cartridge was forced to charge to full power in just less than a few seconds was loud and coldly familiar.

"You think I'm not aware of the bounty that Megatron used to have on me back on Cybertron?" Bluestreak snapped waspishly and slammed the butt of his weapon onto the floor in emphasis. The sound echoed against the concrete. "So don't give me that slag when you know I can shoot all of you out of the sky with hardly any effort at all."

He left then, pivoting on his pedes because he didn't want to get dragged into an argument with them when he was so intent on getting into Soundwave's good graces. Bluestreak stashed his rifle back into his subspace and leaned against one of the walls, taking a few moments to calm himself down. He stared at the human furniture that he had pushed to the side and the energon converter, where a bright pink cube lay waiting. When his doorwings finally lowered themselves to their normal position, Bluestreak picked up the cube and proceeded down to the human conference chamber he had chosen for Soundwave.

Bluestreak had to stop just to admire his catch.

The Decepticon was magnificent; his body sprawled out and restrained on the berth. Soundwave always carried a quiet, graceful gait to him that Bluestreak would forever respect. It was very much like Jazz's in a sense but where the saboteur could sneak into a room without being noticed, Soundwave had the ability to present himself as simply part of the surroundings.

The accusing red visor tracked his every movement as he neared the berth and sat down onto it.

"Are you hungry?" Bluestreak asked, holding up the cube.

"Where are my symbiotes," Soundwave demanded instead.

"They're in a room further down. I haven't hurt them, you know. I want to be nice to them if they let me," Bluestreak said, coyly glancing over to the other mech.

Even without his telepathy, Bluestreak felt that Soundwave could see right through him and his shy little mech act. The Autobot internally sighed; he hadn't interfaced with Soundwave yet but he knew that he didn't want to wait too long for it. Soundwave was a temptation he wouldn't be able to resist.

"You _have_ to eat," Bluestreak insisted.

"Fuel status: adequate."

Bluestreak frowned at Soundwave's refusal and placed the cube onto the floor. "You shouldn't act so stubborn. Judging by my calculations, you'd be safer refuelling now."

His optics flickered up at the Decepticon's upstretched arms, where the wrists were hooked to the wall by the stasis cuffs. As he continued to lecture, Bluestreak reached forward to unhook them. Soundwave tried to wrench his bound hands away, presumably to rip off the telepathy-blocking device but Bluestreak would not have it. He held fast, squeezing the other mech's hands between his own. Soundwave, weakened by the stasis cuffs had no choice but to give up.

"I know you're…displeased right about now but if you relax and let me take care of you, I promise you that I can make you change your mind—" Bluestreak's optics darkened and he pulled Soundwave's hands close to his face so he could kiss the long, clawed fingers. "—you really have no idea how much I want this. I really want you, you know…and I want you to want me back…"

The digits twitched against Bluestreak's lips, but Soundwave remained still. It was almost worshipful; the way Bluestreak lavished his attentions onto his hands. He kissed up the palm of the Decepticon's right hand and curled his glossa between the joints. Soundwave watched with a bright visor, expectantly. When Bluestreak made the mistake of sucking one the fingers into his mouth, Soundwave sprang into action like a fast-acting trap. He maliciously hooked his finger into the inner cavern of Bluestreak's mouth and dragged outwards.

With a high-pitched yelp, Bluestreak reared back and whipped his helm to the side, away from view.

"Foolish, delusional Autobot," Soundwave hissed out derisively.

Soundwave tried to pull his hands back, but Bluestreak still held them with an iron-grip. The young sniper looked up and wiped at his mouth, frowning at the amount of mechblood that was on his hand. His lower lip was torn right through, the gash exposing the multitude of layers and energon-capillary system that made up his dermalplating. The wound would require attention.

"I should have expected that," Bluestreak mumbled as more mechblood welled up and spilled down his chin.

"I will _not_ yield," Soundwave reiterated.

"No you won't," Bluestreak agreed, finally turning back to face Soundwave. "Not like this anyway. You're a proud mech…and I like that in you. I don't have much pride myself, you know…so I admire that in you."

Soundwave didn't have a chance to even think about how absurd the Autobot's words sounded; his vents hitched when Bluestreak slammed his hands back against the hooks on the wall. Bluestreak got up to fish out a medical kit from some supplies stacked away in a corner. Soundwave watched him tend to the injury from the corner of his visor.

"It's okay," Bluestreak was saying after he returned, asserting himself between Soundwave's legs, keeping them apart with his hips. "I knew it wasn't going to be easy but I'm prepared to do what it takes to have you accept me."

Warm pressure settled upon Soundwave's chestplate as Bluestreak leaned forward and nuzzled his face against the other mech's neck.  Soundwave made an annoyed rumble and shifted uncomfortably on the berth, resenting the feel of those hands over his body and the scrape of the temporary medical patch plastered on Bluestreak's mouth against his neck-cables. Bluestreak's touch wasn't rough, but it was insistent; fingers seeking out the gaps of his armour to stimulate the protoform and wires underneath. Bluestreak's energy field rolled over him like a wall of fire, and it clashed against Soundwave's own field.

It was tiring…trying to keep the young sniper's need from affecting him.

And now those bright blue optics were in his face again, staring at him expectantly as fingers rubbed at his naked interface. The sensors surrounding his spike housing lit up one by one from the Autobot's touch who didn't hesitate from dipping his fingers into the housing to touch Soundwave's recessed spike.

"If you're good, I'll suck you off…you must be big too," Bluestreak cooed, his smile looking oddly misaligned because of the wound on his lip. "Don't think I'm those type of lovers that concentrate on one part of a mech's interface…I love fragging as much as I love being fragged…and I'd love the feeling of your big spike inside me…ooo, you'd stretch me out too, I can feel it—"

Bluestreak was firmly rubbing around the tip of Soundwave's spike that peeked over the housing. He pinched it between two fingers and Soundwave's visor flared at the stinging sensation that would have felt wonderful had he been aroused. He tried to tune out the rest of the Autobot's asinine words but detaching himself from the situation was proving to be difficult.

"—I love having a big spike inside me too, you know…I'd _love_ to ride you, wouldn't you want that? But right now, I want to feel _you_ from the inside."

"You will have to force me," Soundwave stated coldly.

"I know," Bluestreak replied regretfully. "And I don't want to but I know that I have to at least a couple of times until you forgive me enough to accept me into your spark."

"Delusional fool," Soundwave hissed out.

"Hopeful fool," Bluestreak corrected.

Soundwave felt the fingers touch his valve. They explored the protective folds that surrounded the small opening, teasingly pulling on one until he squirmed at the sensitivity. Then one finger carefully pushed past the rim and entered his valve. He grimaced behind his mask, uncomfortable at how just one finger spread the stiff walls that had not been stretched in such a long time. It had been eons since his last interface.

"You're so tight," Bluestreak noted and it was clear that he was thrilled by the fact.

With a sharp movement of his doorwings, the mech withdrew his hand and arranged himself properly so that he could loom over his captive. Soundwave caught a flash of movement when Bluestreak reached into his subspace to withdraw a long but unassuming object. Four connecting balls, one a little bit bigger than the other. They weren't big but Soundwave knew an interfacing toy when he saw one and knew where this one was going to end up.

Bluestreak was much more considerate with the toy than Soundwave wanted to admit. The Decepticon telepath made a protesting noise as Bluestreak's warm glossa licked teasingly along the entrance of his valve, barely dipping past the tightly clenched rim to taste inside. Soundwave found his sensor nodes reacting automatically against the stimulation, making his thighs twitch and his valve to slowly relax around the first ball Bluestreak was pushing inside of him. Then Bluestreak's pliant mouth moved up to suckle lightly on the protruding tip of his still-recessed spike before he pushed something onto it. Soundwave jolted at the feeling of Bluestreak screwing a cap over his housing to stop his spike from extending. It was a popular toy, especially to the more adventurous of couples who enjoyed power-play. But to Soundwave, it was constraining, uncomfortable and practically undignified.

Except Soundwave wanted to stop himself from arching his back as Bluestreak licked around the second ball he was slowly coaxing inside. With his spike capped, Soundwave was unprepared for the onslaught of new sensations that concentrated around his valve nodes.

Bluestreak grinned and pushed the last two balls inside.

Soundwave's hips twisted from side to side and his valve betrayed him, happily responding to Bluestreak's teasing. Cool air brushed over Soundwave's rim as it stretched over the ball's circumference with each tug Bluestreak gave the toy, leaving it hypersensitive and vulnerable to the Autobot's glossa. When Bluestreak unhurriedly pulled out the toy, Soundwave uttered a burst of digitised noise. His valve glistened with the beginnings of lubricant, the slightly loosened opening quivering against Bluestreak's mouth as he kissed and licked it.

"You really do taste amazing," Bluestreak informed him with a voice roughened with lust, his glossa snaking out to clean the lubricant around his mouth. "My engine's revving already for you."

Soundwave wanted to kill him. He wanted to grab the young Autobot by the neck and rip his cables out just so he could watch the mech's life fluids stream down the front of his chassis.

"Shut up," Soundwave gritted out and banged his hands against his restraints, his fingers curling into his palms.

"I won't," Bluestreak insisted. "I _want_ to tell you how much I want you."

Bluestreak pushed Soundwave's thighs wider. Soundwave's visor brightened with alarm, the flaps of his vents swivelling to hiss out more air from his hot chassis. The stringed balls were pushed back inside his valve and with each movement Soundwave made, they moved inside his inner passage; rolling unevenly against his most innermost nodes, pressing against the soft ribbing of his lining and sending his entire interface array ablaze with arousal. The Autobot was torturing him with them by pulling them slowly out, dark blue optics staring down at the obscene sight of each ball popping out one by one.

The sight was even more obscene when Bluestreak raised the toy up in the light. The balls were gleaming with Soundwave's own lubricant and the Bluestreak stuck his glossa out, drawing them in his mouth to lick them clean. Soundwave could see Bluestreak's doorwings give little twitches - he seemed to enjoy the act so much. It was flattering to a mech's ego and yet so simultaneously disturbing. He then watched Bluestreak toss the toy to the side. It slid wetly across the floor, leaving behind a slight smear of lubricant.

"Oh I wanted to draw it out…wanted to explore you…but I can't," Bluestreak murmured softly. "I'm so impatient. So excited for you."

Soundwave's plating tightened against his protoform the moment Bluestreak's palms smoothed up his thighs, up his waist, slowly _oh so_ slowly mapping every seam with his fingers as if he was something to be savoured. Bluestreak gave Soundwave a playful little smirk and retracted his interface panel to show the captive what he had on offer. Without wanting to, Soundwave glanced down at Bluestreak's interface array and the optics behind his visor narrowed at the extended spike. It was an adequate size but what set it apart was the large ridge just below the bulbous tip; a common spike modification back in the day that was perfect for stimulating the cluster of large nodes embedded at the top of a mech's valve channel. Below the modification, a line of ridges ran down the underbelly of Bluestreak's spike and the tubing that surrounded the base of his housing and melded into the shaft of his spike looked engorged with energon, close to bursting point. Pre-fluid welled inside the slit and rolled down his tip.

Bluestreak wasn't exaggerating with how excited he was.

"I always loved how you looked in battle," the Autobot whispered hotly, tilting his hips upwards and Soundwave tensed when he felt the tip push apart the protective folds surrounding his valve opening. "You were always in control. Never losing it, never floundering, never saying anything. Your silence is what set you apart from the others. You're… stoic. Mesmerising. Your stare…"

Soundwave pressed the back of his helm hard against the surface of the mattress, exhaling loudly from his vents. The spike's tip spread the rim of his valve, much wider than balls that were inside him just earlier. He felt his valve opening resist at first before a little force was all it took for Bluestreak's spike to pop inside him. It slid slowly inside him, invading him.

"So _powerful_ ," Bluestreak finished, his blue optics flickering from the intensity, trying to make the moment last.

It had been so long since Soundwave last had a spike inside him and his valve clenched, his stiff inner walls to being pushed apart. They dragged along the ridges of the spike, making the dull ache inside his valve even worse.

"More powerful than Megatron."

"Lord Megatron—"

Bluestreak interrupted, continuing after him. "Is nothing without you supporting him in the background. Who prepares the battlefield for him? Who watches his back? Who spies for him? Who does everything for him? You, you, _you_. You run the Decepticons for him."

"Lord Megatron is powerful. He will prevail—"

"He can't do without you."

"No—"

"Yes!" Bluestreak persisted vehemently.

More air whooshed out of Soundwave's vents, his joints creaking ever so slightly from the roll of Bluestreak's hips. The Autobot's shoulders trembled with exertion and restrain, and he was holding himself from just losing it. Instead, he panted as he fucked Soundwave with steady, unhurried thrusts; hilting himself properly until his spike housing sat flush against the rim of Soundwave's valve before pulling back until only his tip remained inside.

"I'd take such good care of you. Watch over you, protect you forever. Worship and pleasure you. Get to know you. I want to a good sire to our sparklings—"

Soundwave jerked with alarm at that. Bluestreak hunched his shoulders in so he could bring his mouth close to the other mech's masked faceplates. Soundwave looked away but he could not ignore how unbearable the heat between his own thighs seemed to be. He hated how his captor ran his hands over his plating like a mortal worshipping a deity's body, making that unwanted heat within his body burn even hotter. He couldn't deny the disgust he felt for the act nor the pleasure that seeped from his sensors – the two feelings warring against each other while his logic seemed to fade far away from him.

"I don't care what horrible things you've done in the past. I've done horrible things too. None of that matters to me. I just want to be happy with you," Bluestreak breathed, so close that his chevron bumped against Soundwave's helm crest.

"Stop it," Soundwave muttered, powering off his visor as if he could magically erase the debauchery that was happening to his own body.

"I could lose myself inside you…" A long drawn-out groan and Bluestreak stilled for a moment, his optics flashing brightly "…that's how good you feel around me."

And try as he might, Soundwave could not ignore the slide of that spike inside him. That modification did exactly as advertised. Each time Bluestreak tilted his hips up, it pressed against a sensitive patch of nodes up the upper wall of his valve, tingling with the building charge. Soundwave could feel fluids being pushed out of his valve and he was startled to realise that the Autobot had actually already overloaded inside him…and yet his spike had not retracted at all. He just continued to thrust in a complete testament of endurance and virility.

Soundwave exhaled heavily and felt his fuel thump in tune with each slide backwards he was forced to tolerate on the berth. With his optical feed turned off, he found that the lack of sight emphasised everything else – the smooth, lubricated movements of the spike in him and the building pleasure that he didn't want to feel. But it meant that he wasn't looking at the mech that was forcing himself on him anymore.

He overloaded against his will and felt his valve clenched almost pleasantly at the wash of transfluid from the Autobot's spike that spurted straight into the inlet of his gestational chamber.


	4. Chapter 4

The Autobot was warbling at him. Soundwave could not describe it otherwise. He sat there where Bluestreak had propped him up against a thick metallo-cushion with nauseating consideration. It was awkward and uncomfortable to listen to. In fact, warbling was putting it _nicely_.

"Stop singing," Soundwave gritted out.

Bluestreak abruptly stopped crooning…whatever he was crooning…and gazed up at Soundwave with the widest optics he'd ever seen on a grown mech.

"I was serenading you!" Bluestreak protested.

Soundwave didn't even want to think about it. He shifted as best as he could – his arms were still strung up against the rings on the wall – while Bluestreak was sitting by his pedes. Even worse, Soundwave's interface array was still bared like a two-credit pleasurebot's and it was obvious that the Autobot couldn't keep his greedy little optics away from the telepath's exposed valve opening. Soundwave could see the blue light in Bluestreak's gaze flicker downwards and he could see how Bluestreak's glossa would snake out from between his still-healing mouth to lick his lips.

And what's more, it was _sore_. Not unbearably so; the Autobot had smeared salve all over Soundwave's valve during a decidedly embarrassing cleaning-up session. But Soundwave could still feel the dull ache. It had been so long, after all.

"Fact: I do not care for _serenading_. Fact: you are a fool."

"You don't like it?" Bluestreak asked with a low voice.

"No."

"Oh okay…well do you like poetry? There's plenty of poems I'd like to read to you. The humans have some lovely ones—"

" _No_."

A heavy, dejected sigh. Bluestreak's gaze flickered briefly towards the wall and Soundwave revelled in the humiliation he could feel leaking out of the young Praxian's energy field.

"Whatever you wish for, you will fail," Soundwave declared haughtily. "I will never give into you, little Autobot. I do not and will never see you as a potential mate."

"You don't know that!" Bluestreak snapped, turning his helm back to glare back at Soundwave.

Soundwave could taste the beginning twinges of indignation in Bluestreak's field, alongside with the embarrassment. He noted how the Autobot's doorwings were held up straight and proudly. Soundwave's lips twisted behind his mask, eager to see the two panels slump down.

"You will not tell me what I already _know_ ," Soundwave insisted. "Autobot: young, inexperienced, a warrior striving to be the best and yet no better than Prime's yellow minibot pet."

The energy field around Bluestreak intensified and thickened with anger. Soundwave could feel the hot sizzle of it against his own and knew just by the pinched expression on the Praxian's features that he was not only hitting the other mech's buttons the wrong way but also mashing them all at once.

So Soundwave continued, enjoying the effect that his words had on his captor.

"You are _nothing_. I am not one to be claimed by the likes of you. I, Autobot, am beyond your league. Autobot: small, ridiculous, _inadequate_." And Soundwave made sure to glance down at Bluestreak's groin when he enunciated his last word.

Soundwave was banking on bringing out two reactions: either Bluestreak was going to run away from the biting criticism or Bluestreak was going to explode with anger.  He did not expect Bluestreak to actually bodily _throw_ him face-down onto the floor. There was a glimpse of those doorwings again, still held high and rigid and Soundwave caught the impassioned fire burning in Bluestreak's optics.

"I _never_ miss my mark," Bluestreak snarled out ferociously.

Soundwave was smacked back down when he tried to sit up. He found his cuffed hands squished up against his abdominal plates as Bluestreak grabbed his hips and yanked them up with more strength than his smaller Praxian-built frame should have produced.

"I wanna tell you about the first time I saw you," Bluestreak hissed out. "Praxus, just over a vorn before you Decepticons destroyed it. Remember where you were? I'll tell you. You were working for Ratbat. You were at the main hall, attending some stupid party with all the senators and officials. It was cut shot because one of the senators was assassinated. I even remember his name. Axis."

Bluestreak had settled down behind him, kneeling in between his sprawled out legs. Soundwave was now on his hands and knees, his chestplates pressing down on the coarse floor because he was unable to support his top half with the way his hands were tied up like that. He could feel the cool air against the exposed components of his interface, and the pulsing of Bluestreak's energy field blanketing him from behind and above.

It was a brief, hazy memory but Soundwave somewhat recalled the night. It was memorable in that respect because he had felt an intruder's presence from outside the building before Axis was shot straight in the spark with a single, high-powered shot. The killer was never found.

"I'm the one who killed him," Bluestreak proclaimed proudly. "I killed him right _next_ to you. I was paid to assassinate him, y'see. I was part of a secret group. I didn't have a name. I didn't exist. I was just some kid living off the streets before I was picked and trained—"

Soundwave was surprised at that. He would have never pegged the little sniper as a paid assassin. He turned his helm to the side, the edge of his vision just managing to catch the way Bluestreak's top lip curled up with righteous anger.

Bluestreak just continued to rant. "So I was quite lucky when all the public records had been destroyed along with the attack. They thought I lost my family when in reality I was rattling off designations from a cover story I had to memorise a while back. I didn't give a frag about Praxus. Not really. But what I _did_ lose were my teammates. That was what mattered to me most. When Ironhide trained me how to shoot, the rifle shook in my servos. He took it as fear…but in reality, I was nervous from having to pretend that I didn't have the skill to dismantle that rifle, then reassemble it and shoot him between the optics quicker than he could process. Beginner's luck he called it. Slagging good acting, I call it."

Upon hearing that, Soundwave was amused. "A talented deceiver. What would your precious Autobots say if they knew," he commented into the floor.

"I'm not a slaggin' Decepticon!" Bluestreak growled out. "You think it doesn't hurt me having to keep this up with the Autobots? They're my family now, but it's for the best. They think I'm innocent. War-stricken… traumatised...and I won't deny it because we all have these little demons locked up inside us, don't we? But what I _really_ hate is everyone believing that I'm incapable of taking charge. That all I'm good for is being all nice and submissive in the berth."

To Soundwave, it was interesting to feel the anger rolling off from an Autobot that was characterised as a mostly docile chatterbox. His files on the young sniper had never stated that he was capable of such extreme emotions beyond normal levels and the babbling. Despite the humiliating nature of his predicament, Soundwave carefully noted the reactions into his vast memory banks with hidden scientific glee.

"And are you?" Soundwave asked carefully, curious to see how the Autobot would react to his goading.

Bluestreak's reply to that was almost predictable. It still made Soundwave grunt softly from the painful suddenness of a spike penetrating his still-sore and rather unprepared valve. He felt Bluestreak's fingers dig into the plating of his hips and when that shaft moved inside him, he could feel his own valve walls drag unevenly across the ridges from the lack of lubricant.

To his credit, Bluestreak didn't immediately begin thrusting like a maniac. Instead, he leaned forward and whispered softly against the side of Soundwave's helm, right where the telepathy-blocking device was.

"You prefer it like this? Mounting you like a bitch and claiming you for myself. I know I do."

It was Soundwave's turn to be insulted with the primitive _human_ insinuation that Bluestreak had just thrown at him.

The telepath growled like a dangerous creature that had just been provoked and he bucked violently backwards in an attempt to throw the other mech off from him. The jolt made Bluestreak's shaft dig hard against his upper valve channel and Bluestreak had to shove his pelvis forward just to keep himself from slipping out.

The worst thing about it was that Bluestreak _encouraged_ him. The Autobot groaned and his engine revved high with excitement, his fingers possessively squeezing around Soundwave's hips. Soundwave hardly had the advantage, given that his cuffed hands prevented him from gaining enough push to throw that infernal Autobot off from him, even though he was bigger and bulkier by far. It was like a fucking rodeo.

"Quit it!" Bluestreak ordered, his hand unlatching from his captive's hip plating long enough to deliver a hard smack against the curve of Soundwave's aft.

Soundwave froze, more from the shock of it than the actual pain. He panted heavily, circulatory system exhaling hot air from his vents and he waited for Bluestreak to make his next move.

"No need to be so sour," Bluestreak crooned.

Soundwave could just imagine the doorwings lazily flapping along with the tone of that voice.

"I will kill you," Soundwave spat out with feeling.

 _Slap!_ Bluestreak had spanked his rear again, harsh and swift.

"Be nice," Bluestreak said sternly.

A trail of fire raced up the pressure sensors of Soundwave's aft and his valve instinctively clenched tightly from the surprise, trapping Bluestreak's spike inside him.

"I will kill you," the telepath repeated and he enunciated his words with deliberate slowness.

This time, he expected the spank. And it burned, _oh how it burned._ The pain was miniscule compared to the injuries he had sustained out in battle and yet his current situation made it seem so much more.Soundwave drew in a sharp breath and remained still. He sneered to himself against the cool floor and enjoyed the reaction he was pulling out of the little Autobot.

"I will—"

Bluestreak didn't wait to hear the rest and Soundwave found himself being pushed forwards when the other mech gripped his hips more securely just to raise his aft high enough for a few more spanks. The sound of Bluestreak's palm hitting the rounded metal of Soundwave's rear rang loudly in the room, echoing around the concrete walls.

"Does it make you feel superior? Disciplining me like an unruly sparkling?" Soundwave goaded further.

"You're the one inviting it."

There was no smacks this time. Instead, Bluestreak reached down to feel the raised lip of Soundwave's opening that was pulled so nicely around his spike. He traced the rim; idly pulling at the swollen folds before he rubbed the pad of his finger against Soundwave's anterior node. To Soundwave, this action seemed even worse than the previous spanking.

"I'd do this to you every day, as often as you want. Fuck you as hard, as soft, as fast, and as slow as you want. Any position you desire. Make you mine over and over again," Bluestreak whispered hoarsely, lips brushing against the side of Soundwave's helm as the telepath beneath him trembled from the exertion of his straining limbs and forced stimulation. "Because I don't think I'll be able to get tired of it. Of _this._ Feeling you inside. I've never wanted anyone else so badly like I want you right now. To me, you're perfect."

A trickle of oral oils slipped from the seam of Soundwave's mouth and rolled down the inside of his mask. The Autobot was playing dirty now; wriggling one finger into Soundwave, past his stretched opening to massage alongside his spike that was still sheathed within him. Soundwave made a muffled choking noise through his vocaliser and the slight sting of the stretch seemed to just stoke the fire that was gathering around his interface even hotter.

"I do not believe you," Soundwave managed to say as his visor flickered from the increasing sensation of an overload that was slowly creeping up on him.

"All you have to do is let me prove it to you," Bluestreak replied and it was obvious from the roughness of his voice that he was close to reaching his peak. "Oh mm Soundwave… _so good_ …"

Even through the roar of the energon and coolant racing through his body, Soundwave could hear his own voice degenerate into a breathy whisper. "Stop…playing games, Autobot."

"Hha…you think that I planned all of this?" Bluestreak panted out, voice too close and too filled with emotion. "Risking my life so that I could court you, betraying the Autobots like this…just so I could play a game with you? I told you. I want you to be mine, as my mate."

There was nothing Soundwave could say. The coherency had been sapped from his processor, leaving only the sensation that had pooled down to the stretched hole between his legs. Bluestreak's lodged-in spike felt like a violation inside him and his inner walls throbbed strongly it, very much in tune with his rapidly pulsing spark. When Soundwave overloaded, he groaned long and loud into his mask and his plating trembled against his frame as his fingers clenched and unclenched from beneath his body. He could feel his valve constrict strongly around Bluestreak's spike, inner walls squeezing so tightly that the ribbing had contoured against the ridges of the Autobot's shaft to milk it of its transfluid.

There was no way Bluestreak could last; his engine gave a guttural sound and he threw his helm back, neck tubes thrumming with coolant and energon as he moaned out his pleasure to the ceiling.

By the end of it, they both were too exhausted to move. Soundwave twitched as Bluestreak withdrew from his valve, his oversensitive walls still sending him signals of sharp pleasure just from the slide of that shaft as it slipped out of him. A mixture of lubricant and transfluid followed, dripping from the loosened rim of his opening to splatter onto the floor.

Bluestreak ran his servos over Soundwave's backstruts. Though they were both running hot, Bluestreak's palms felt cold against the hot plating of Soundwave's lower back and he shivered from the sensation. He hardly made a sound as Bluestreak abruptly hefted him backwards, helping him sit up so that he could lean back against the other mech. It provided much needed relief to his cuffed wrists from where they'd been squished into the floor. Bluestreak's thighs cradled his hips and Soundwave blearily stared at the intricate gears and folded plating that made up Bluestreak's pede and alt-mode wheel system. He tried to ignore the puddle of their combined fluids.

"You're hungry," Bluestreak murmured. "You need to fuel."

It was true. Soundwave's systems were already giving him red warning windows about it. He hadn't fuelled since the _Nemesis_ and Bluestreak knew it too. Bluestreak reached to his left, procuring the still-full energon cube that Soundwave had rejected before.

He brought it up to Soundwave's lower mask. "C'mon Soundwave. Drink up." A pause. "I won't look. Here, I promise it's not poisoned."

There was a faint gulp as Bluestreak tipped the cube towards his own mouth to take a sip. Still, everyone knew that there were ways to counter that seemingly innocent gesture of goodwill; one could have a dummy fuel intake or a special filter installed instead. In Soundwave's case, he had enough modifications on him to tell him whether the cube had been tampered or not. Somehow he doubted the little Praxian had it in him…not after this.

Nonetheless, he _was_ hungry. Soundwave considered demanding a fuelling tube instead to siphon the fuel directly into his tanks. But then Bluestreak had to say:

"You're making me worried. _Please._ "

Maybe it was the way Bluestreak said it – the quiet, gentle plea that was reserved just for Soundwave. It certainly did appeal to Soundwave's sadistic tendencies.

With a soft _snick,_ Soundwave retracted his mask and Bluestreak's energy buzzed excitedly at having achieved this important milestone in the screwed-up beginnings of their relationship. Almost immediately, Bluestreak's free hand came up to feel the uncovered faceplates. He managed to feel the sharp line of a jaw and smooth dermalplating before Soundwave jerked his face to the side.

"Feed me since you so insist," Soundwave loftily demanded.

"So you _do_ have a face. And a real voice! Your monotone was just part of the mask!" Bluestreak exclaimed, sounding rather pleased at the newfound knowledge. "Gotta tell Smokescreen that he was wrong the entire time."

Soundwave stiffened at the prospect of another Autobot knowing.

Sensing that he was losing Soundwave's newfound cooperation, Bluestreak began to babble in hopes to salvage his blunder. "He helped me…uh catch you. Don't worry – he's not going to say anything. He owed me anyway, seeing as I know his big secret and—"

"His fraternisation with the Combaticon," Soundwave said, finishing off Bluestreak's sentence.

It was Bluestreak's turn to go stiff. "You…know about that?"

Of course Soundwave did. He knew everything that went on in the _Nemesis_ , every dirty little secret, every dirty little tryst. It was his job to know and his prerogative to distribute the blackmail as he saw fit.

"Does Megatron know?" Bluestreak tentatively asked.

"Negative. Megatron would impulsively terminate Swindle."

In other words, no Swindle meant no Bruticus.

Thankfully, Bluestreak didn't pursue the matter. He was more interested in feeding his would-be mate and Soundwave guided him by bringing his bound hands up to the bottom of the cube. The energon coolly slid down his throat intake, a welcome addition to his tanks. Finally the low-fuel warnings ceased.

Soundwave deliberately took advantage of the mech that was supporting his weight and he allowed his exhausted body to slump fully against him. The rounded curve of Bluestreak's chestplates pressed a little uncomfortably against his back so Soundwave shifted his torso to the side to avoid it. It brought his helm closer to Bluestreak and when he tilted his visor up, he could definitely see the intense light in Bluestreak's optics as they studied the features of his exposed face.

Then it started; Bluestreak reaching up to touch his cheek again. Soundwave decided that he was simply too tired to fight. However, he did scowl when he felt the Autobot's lips press against the side of his helm.

"I wish to see my symbiotes," Soundwave said.

Bluestreak paused with consideration. "Okay. You must be worried about them."

Soundwave was gently pushed forward as Bluestreak shifted to stand. He looked up just as the Autobot extended a hand to help him up.

"I can let you see them now," Bluestreak offered.

Soundwave's mask snapped shut, hiding his lower face from view. He made a scrutinising glare at both their exposed interface arrays and the drying lubricant smeared across their upper thighs. Bluestreak didn't know what was wrong at first until it clicked in his processor that Soundwave would refuse to let his Cassettes see him like that. Understandable but…

"If I release the clip I have on it now then you won't open for me again, will you," Bluestreak said, referring to Soundwave's interface panel.

The Decepticon just gave him a _look_.

"Or…" Out of habit, Bluestreak bit his bottom lip and promptly winced. He had forgotten all about the nasty wound. "Or maybe you'll open it by yourself if I get you hot enough…"

"Challenge yourself," Soundwave spat out. The condescension was clear, even though the monotone was back.

Bluestreak stared at Soundwave with serious contemplation. If he could get Soundwave to willingly open up his panel for him then that would be a giant milestone in winning him over, wouldn't it?

"Deal," Bluestreak decided.

He stepped over to one of the smaller crates he had stashed close to the wall and pulled out a bottle containing cleansing solvent and organic rags. Since Soundwave was still in stasis-cuffs, Bluestreak would have to be the one to clean him up. It wasn't something the Autobot minded, of course. In fact he relished the idea.

So in the end Soundwave simply stood there, rather awkwardly as Bluestreak knelt in front of him. He suppressed the urge to kick the Autobot away but instead was left shifting his weight from pede to pede while Bluestreak unhurriedly wiped the solvent-soaked rag up each leg.

He was unprepared for Bluestreak to suddenly push his face between his spread legs and latch his mouth directly onto his still-sensitive valve.

There was a short burst of static. "What—"

Soundwave jolted and stumbled backwards but Bluestreak wound his arm around the back of the other mech's thighs to keep him steady. Though the telepath's hands were still tied together there was nothing he could do – except for feebly gripping his captor's chevron. Bluestreak took no heed however and continued his lewd ministrations. He had pursed his lips to form a seal around the relaxed opening of Soundwave's valve. It was wet, slippery with the combination of both their fluids and it quivered helplessly against his mouth as he probed his glossa inside. He could taste the sweet oiliness that was Soundwave's lubricant gathering around the sides of his glossa every time he swiped it shallowly across the ribbed valve lining. He could also taste himself – thicker, tangier globs of transfluid on the tip of his glossa. It was a heady blend that made his processor swim with renewed lust.

Above him, Soundwave trembled. He was completely frozen in his position, save for the shaking of his thighs and his body's heavy ventilations. His fingers tightened around the chevron he was holding, unable to make up his mind on whether he wanted to tear the Autobot away or press him closer. It was horribly conflicting. Except now that the over-sensitivity of his nodes had died down, Soundwave could truly appreciate the way the glossa wriggled against the rim of his valve. He could feel Bluestreak literally try to lick out the fluids inside him and it was rather nice, having this young Autobot eager to kneel before him, eager to pleasure him with his mouth.

Then Bluestreak abruptly stopped. He unsubspaced a small tool that was designed for delicate, precision work and quickly wormed it into the edges of Soundwave's retracted interface panel. With a fiddle here and there, the gear was slotted back into place and Soundwave's panel automatically shut. Bluestreak put one hand on his knee so that he could push himself up.

"All clean!" he proclaimed and cheekily wiped his mouth.

No longer was the telepath giving him that dour, unimpressed stare. Soundwave's visor was now coloured a deep, murderous red. The Autobot had deliberately stopped just as Soundwave's rising charge was steadily building up into an overload.

"Technique: cheating. Will not work," Soundwave declared, referring to the challenge. "Take me to my symbiotes."

Bluestreak was smirking. It was as if he could tell that Soundwave's anterior node was swollen behind that panel and pulsing like mad for more attention. Soundwave, of course, was no amateur. He inhaled deeply until his body temperature had cooled down and the red in his visor had dulled back to its normal colour. Obviously he knew how to disguise his emotions – even arousal.

"Take me to my symbiotes," he repeated.

"Sure," Bluestreak said with a wave of his hand. "C'mon, this way."

Despite everything had transpired between them up to now, the Autobot wasn't stupid enough to turn his back to Soundwave. He motioned Soundwave to walk ahead of him, guiding him the few paces that he needed to reach the corner in the far end of the chamber. The Cassetticons were kept a small room that was hidden behind the main wall and the slight tightness in Soundwave's spark eased when he saw that they were unharmed.

It was Ravage who saw him first. Then his avian twins. Rumble and Frenzy were the last.

"Soundwave!" Rumble yelled out as he quickly threw the datapad he was amusing himself with aside.

Frenzy pushed past his brother. "Boss, yer alright!"

Bluestreak stood back close to the wall, away from the family reunion. He watched Soundwave squat down onto his haunches so that he could be on the same optic level with the symbiotes as they bombarded him with questions. He absently wondered just how far the telepath would go for them. Probably more than Megatron would have liked.

He gave them a few moments to catch up before he proceeded towards the energon dispenser. Buzzsaw then made an agitated squawk when he spied the Praxian walking towards them with a tray full of small energon cubes.

Bluestreak smiled kindly. "Hungry?"

Rumble glanced at Frenzy and non-subtly twirled a finger in a circle next to his helm. Bluestreak didn't comment. It probably wasn't that far from the truth anyway.

 

* * *

 

The Autobot relief mission to Japan was surprisingly short. Optimus Prime and his crew worked quickly and efficiently to clear the devastation that the earthquake had caused and once the aftershocks had receded, the Japanese government thanked them profusely and assured them that they could take it from there.

Smokescreen was standing at the edge of the landing area that was specially designed for Skyfire's alt-mode. The shuttle's engines were deafening but given the amount of bots he was carrying, it was no wonder that he was using all the power he had. Feedback from Smokescreen's right door sensor informed him of Jazz sidling up next to him, no doubt eager to see his bondmate. When Prowl emerged right after Prime, Jazz grinned widely and waved enthusiastically.

Smokescreen rolled the light in his optics.

It was then that Bluestreak contacted him. It was via an encrypted frequency that piggybacked through human telecommunications before being rerouted to the _Ark's_ main line.

 _'Yo,'_ he replied. _'How are things with the Prince of Darkness?'_

_'Fantastic. And to prove you wrong, he has a face. A nice one too.'_

Smokescreen didn't know what to think about that. Rumour had it that Soundwave's visor and mask _was_ his real face. To maximise efficiency or something like that. _'You don't say,'_ he drawled out. _'Does his mouth split apart into four different sections, each lined with rows and rows of sharp teeth?'_

 _'Don't be absurd!'_ If Bluestreak was going for a scolding tone there then he failed miserably. He sounded like he was lost in a happy dream.

Smokescreen lazily watched the last passenger disembark from Skyfire's cargo hold. It was Sideswipe.

 _'The relief team are back from Japan,'_ he announced.

Bluestreak hissed with disappointment. _'Already? I was hoping they'd stay an extra solar-cycle.'_

 _'Prowl's gonna start putting two and two together now that everyone's accounted for. Jazz's probably already figured out something's up,'_ Smokescreen commented.

Up close, Smokescreen could see that Sideswipe's normally rich red plating was covered in a fine layer of dust. The frontliner nodded at him and Smokescreen offered an easy smile in acknowledgement.

"Card game tonight?" Sideswipe asked over the sounds of Skyfire transforming. He was talking about Smokescreen's occasional card games that involved high-stake bets.

"Bit short notice but I'm sure I can come up with something," Smokescreen told him.

_'Yeah well, I know it won't be easy—'_

_'You're damn right it won't,'_ Smokescreen scathingly cut in. Even if Bluestreak was successful in his…endeavour then it didn't automatically mean that Soundwave would automatically defect. And then what? Politely ask Megatron for a ceasefire so that the happy couple could go on a honeymoon?

For once, Bluestreak was silent over the line. Smokescreen could actually picture his friend parting his lips and faltering, unable to find the right words.

Sideswipe on the other hand gave Smokescreen a pat on the shoulder. "Great!" He stepped past Smokescreen so that he could leave the area. Just before he left, he called out over his shoulder, "If you see Blue, tell him to stop by, okay?"

Smokescreen didn't even bother responding. You poor unfortunate spark, he thought to himself. Your little Praxian berthwarmer's got other plans that don't involve you.

Then Bluestreak mumbled out, _'Gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow.'_

_'You do that.'_

The moment the line was disconnected, Smokescreen got an insistent ping from Red Alert demanding to know whether the call was of Decepticon origin and why wasn't it approved or rerouted through the appropriate channels. Smokescreen sighed and rubbed at his chevron as he mentally prepared himself for the paranoid bastard's tirade.


	5. Chapter 5

"So that friend of yours with Soundwave. The sniper. How's that going?" Swindle absently asked.

Smokescreen pondered on that for a moment. How _was_ that going? Did he even want to know?

"Well, he's still alive," Smokescreen answered, not knowing what else to say.

They had met up in an abandoned warehouse depot during one of those rare times where they both could escape from their respective factions. At first there wasn't much talk – Swindle barely managed to spread out a tarp on the dusty floor before Smokescreen dragged him down for a session of hot, frenzied sex. It didn't last very long but there was plenty of time for a second round.

Swindle shifted to half sit up and Smokescreen dragged himself closer so that he could rest his helm against the Combaticon's chestplate. Swindle was puffing away on a cy-gar, blowing out bluish rings of smoke out towards the high ceiling.

"Gotta say it though. That friend of yours must really have a few loose bolts in his head. Freakin' suicidal," Swindle said before he exhaled and let himself drop back down onto the tarp. "Primus. _Soundwave_. Still can't believe you two managed to capture him."

"Wasn't _that_ hard," Smokescreen muttered.

Swindle turned the cy-gar off and subspaced it before he moved again. He pushed his hands onto Smokescreen's shoulders, making him lie down so that he could straddle him. Smokescreen would have taken it as an invitation to continue their fucking if it wasn't for the intense look in his lover's purple optics.

Smokescreen went limp and the tarp beneath his doorwings crinkled as he resigned himself to whatever Swindle was going to say.

"No you don't get it, Smokes," Swindle huffed out. "Your friend really must be insane and you two were lucky then. Soundwave won't fall for the same trick again."

Smokescreen frowned. "I get that the mech's dangerous but you make it sound like he's worse than Megatron."

"Cause he can be!" Swindle exclaimed. "He's a different kind of dangerous that everyone underestimates because that’s his game. He makes you think that he's just Megatron's loyal lackey. That he makes his brat Cassettes fight for him because he's weak when he's directly involved on the battlefield. But I've seen him in close-quarters combat. He's good. And I've seen him torture – trust me, Vortex ain't got nothing on this guy. Soundwave's fraggin' scary. That witch-power of his—"

"And you gave me an inhibitor to block his telepathy," Smokescreen firmly reminded him.

"Free of charge no less!" Somehow Swindle managed to look proud of that fact, like he had done the world a big favour by not charging for such an item. "One of a kind too!"

"I'm your lover – it should be free regardless!" Smokescreen then realised that he was getting off-topic and sputtered out, "But that's beside the point!"

Swindle simply pointed a finger down at Smokescreen. "Look. Personally I don't give a slag about what happens to your friend. But be that as it may, he's _your_ friend and I know you care about him. So think of this as friendly advice: you think Starscream's manipulative? Soundwave will twist you around without you even knowing it until it's too late and you're already buried in a deep dark hole you can't get yourself out of. There's mechs you gotta watch out for and then there's _him_." Swindle paused and slightly narrowed the light in his big optics. "Just tell your friend to be extra careful."

Smokescreen stared up at his lover for a long moment and his frown deepened. Swindle was right. Primus only knew what Bluestreak hoped to achieve with all of this. The last thing Smokescreen wanted was for the kid to get murdered. He made a mental note to contact him later just to reassure himself, if nothing else.

He sighed, suddenly tired of the conversation and tired of worrying about Bluestreak. "Yeah I get you. At the end of the day, it's Bluestreak's choice. He's not a sparkling and he can take care of himself. Obviously we both know that there's no way in hell he's going to be successful because like you said, it's _Soundwave_. Maybe after the whole thing's over, he'll pick a nice, safe Autobot and be done with it."

Swindle snorted, unconvinced. "Well, you just pray that Soundwave doesn't end up terminating your friend."

And even after that talk was over, even as Swindle started to wriggle those delectable purple hips of his all over Smokescreen's lap, Smokescreen couldn't help but hope that the Combaticon's words weren't a premonition for something worse.

 

* * *

 

It turns out they were.

Everything was okay when he got back to the _Ark_ , all relaxed and sated from his time with Swindle. The rest of his shift went on smoothly and when it was over, Smokescreen decided a nice card game in the rec room was in order.

He chatted with the others, made jokes and listened to the latest gossip. The Lambo twins joined him for a game, then Ironhide. Somewhere along the line, Smokescreen noticed how Sideswipe's optics would occasionally stray towards the door – as if he was expecting someone.

After a while of watching Sideswipe repeat the same motion over and over again, Smokescreen couldn't take it anymore.

"He's not going to come," he pointedly remarked, careful to hide that malicious glee from his tone just because he knew something that Sideswipe didn't.

The red-plated frontliner jumped slightly, acting like he was caught doing something he shouldn't. His hands tipped forward ever slightly and Smokescreen subtly craned his head to the side, just to see if he could catch sight of those cards.

"Who's not going to come?" Sideswipe muttered as he quickly shuffled through his cards to save face.

"Bluestreak," Ironhide replied, beating Smokescreen to it. The old veteran impatiently waved his hand forward. "C'mon, it's your turn. I ain't getting any prettier sitting here waiting on you."

Smokescreen wanted to point out that Ironhide would need to wait for at least three millennia to be considered even remotely pretty but wisely chose to keep it to himself. Instead he made a low noise in his vocaliser and watched amusedly as Sideswipe hurriedly placed a card down onto the table.

"So where _is_ Blue?"

This time it was Sunstreaker who asked; lifting up his helm slightly to lazily gaze at Smokescreen, much like a disinterested creature that had found something mildly amusing. He wasn't actively taking part in the game but often liked to sit next to Sideswipe and watch him play.

Smokescreen inspected his cards. "On leave. Don't ask me where because I haven't the slightest clue," he breezily replied with an easy lie.

It was interesting to note the hurt that washed briefly over Sideswipe's face – the slight downward turn of the mouth, the dimming of the optics and the disbelief that Bluestreak would dare to go on leave without asking his favourite lover to come with him.

The poor guy must have it really bad, Smokescreen privately thought to himself with a snort.

Oh well. You snooze, you lose.

Sideswipe and his twin should have been more sensitive to Bluestreak's needs. Pity about the replacement but as the saying goes, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

The game went on for a short while later and Smokescreen really did think that the night was going to end without incident. It wasn't until his right doorwing started to tingle unpleasantly did Smokescreen realise that Bluestreak's little escapade was getting ready to rear its ugly head back to bite him on the aft.

The tingling got worse and Smokescreen tilted his head back to see Jazz standing behind him.

"Heya mech." Jazz's smile looked friendly enough but Smokescreen was perceptive enough to see the sharp edge to it. "Got a minute?"

"Right now?" Smokescreen grumbled in hopes that Jazz would be deterred. "Why not join us instead?"

Instead, Jazz's smile widened and he placed a hand on Smokescreen's shoulder to squeeze it ever so slightly in warning. "M'fraid not."

"Fine," he conceded sourly and tossed his cards on the table. "You guys continue without me. I had a lousy hand anyway."

When Jazz jerked his head towards the exit, Smokescreen felt his tank sink with trepidation. He followed the saboteur out into the corridor.

"What's this about that's so private you have to take me out of the rec room?" Smokescreen casually asked.

"It's about Baby Blue."

"I don't see how I—"

But Jazz brusquely cut him off. "Cut the slag before I charge you with treason."

Well. Fuck.

He was ushered straight into Prowl's office and felt an impending sense of dread when the door slid shut behind him. His fellow Praxian was sitting at his desk like some bureaucratic deity, slender fingers forming a sharp steeple next to a neat stack of datapads. Behind him, Jazz had blocked the only exit there was. Smokescreen was trapped in the small room.

Prowl gazed at him impassively with optics that had the same colour as ice and were just as cold. "Who did Bluestreak kidnap?" It wasn't a cordial question. It was a demand.

The mech certainly didn't mince his words.

Smokescreen steeled himself for what would be an uncomfortable conversation. He then spread his hands out and shrugged. "How should I know?"

The tactician's expression didn't change. "Video footage shows the both of you conversing together alone in one of the store rooms several times before you two left the _Ark_ together a day after he had requested permission for his leave. You came back alone. Further evidence shows you accessing Teletraan's intelligence archive for Decepticon patrol routes."

Then Jazz spoke up behind him with that deceptively amiable tone. "All our soldiers here are accounted for. _Except him_. Surely you understand why we're worried, dotcha?"

There was a pause between the three of them and the surrounding air seemed to become dense as demeanours changed. Smokescreen stepped forward and sat down on one of the stern-looking chairs in front of Prowl's desk. He relaxed back against it and let his arms dangle freely from the too-small armrests. The agitation was gone, replaced with an easy confidence that suggested that Smokescreen knew that the threat of treason was just a bluff. They wouldn't dare – not when Prowl was a Praxian traditionalist through and through. Not when he had a big soft spot for Bluestreak, being his guardian. And besides, a soldier of Smokescreen's high calibre was in extreme short supply these days.

Smokescreen wasn't _too_ worried. All he had to do was keep them from finding about his own illicit affair.

"I tried to talk Blue out of it but he had his spark set on this one," Smokescreen explained, lifting up one doorwing in a helpless gesture. "He would have gone and tried to capture his mech with or without my help. And you know me. I didn't want the kid to go capturing big, bad Decepticons all by his lonesome."

Despite the icy optics, Smokescreen could see the dismay being spelled out just by the way Prowl held his doorwings. He could even see it in Jazz as well; black fingers curled with tension as the saboteur walked past him to perch at the edge of Prowl's desk.

"So you know where he is," Prowl stated.

"I make him message me every day just to make sure he's alright. So far he's doing just fine. It even sounds like he’s getting somewhere with his uh, bride."

Prowl’s mouth simply flattened into a thin, straight line. Obviously it didn't make him happy to associate the words ‘Bluestreak’, ‘Decepticon’ and ‘bride’ all in the same sentence.

"You will give us his frequency and his location," Prowl ordered.

One of Smokescreen's brightened in a decidedly crafty look. "You're not interested in finding out who he's kidnapped?"

Prowl smacked both his palms down onto the table with a loud sound.

There it was. That carefully crafted control slipping.

"Frankly, I don't care right now," Prowl snapped. "My primary concern right now is that my ward is out there fraternising with a member of the enemy faction and committing _treason._ Traditions be damned!I don't even want to know what the consequences are if he ends up being…" Here, he had trouble even finishing his sentence, lest it had the power of becoming true, "…successful."

"It could be Megatron," Smokescreen continued blithely. "But I think Starscream would be more up Bluestreak's alley. Or maybe one of the Stunticons?"

Prowl's small, prim mouth was twisting in on itself and for a moment there he even appeared like he was ready to spontaneously implode. Smokescreen wanted to burst out laughing – and he would have, had his situation not been so dire.

Jazz, on the other hand, was not at all amused. "Who is it?"

Smokescreen intentionally paused, just to feel the tension in the room thicken with suspense. "It's Soundwave."

Contrary to popular opinion, Prowl did not crash whenever something illogical was thrown his way. If that was the case then he wouldn't have been very useful as a Prime's second-in-command. It was true that he did have a glitch as a result of his formidable tactical computer but it had nothing to do with logic and was more about him descending into a psychotic, violent mess. So when Prowl heard who Bluestreak had chosen for a mate, he merely muttered an expletive under his breath and covered his face with his hand. Even Jazz looked a little bit sick.

"The telepathy?" Jazz asked thickly after a long pause. As head of Spec Ops, he knew exactly how dangerous that telepathy was.

"Don't give me that look," Smokescreen sighed, almost offended. "I know better than to leave him alone with _Soundwave_. I gave him an inhibitor. And don't worry about the Cassettes. Blue and I thought of everything."

"Where'd you get the inhibitor?"

Inhibitors strong enough to nullify a mech's special ability, especially a unique power like telepathy, were few and far between and very hard to come by. Before the war, inhibitor technology was top-secret and were only available to elite Enforcers and the nobles who could afford the steep black market price. Now it was impossible to get them. Primus only knew where Swindle got his.

"Does it really matter at this point?"

Jazz didn't like the answer he was given and he scowled. In response, Smokescreen flared out his doorwings and let his energy field spill out defensively. It might have been unwise to challenge _Jazz_ out of all mechs but Smokescreen wasn't prepared to give up his special relationship with Swindle.

Prowl interrupted their impending stand-off with an authoritative pulse of his own energy field and a snap of his doorwings. No words were needed for the tactician to prove his superiority.  Jazz reluctantly simmered down and pulled back his field. He then folded his arms across his rounded chestplates and with a pinched expression on his face, waited for Prowl to speak. Smokescreen was forced to drop his own doorwings in submission.

Prowl's voice was flat and his expression stony. "Smokescreen," he punctuated the name slowly, deliberately. "You still have yet to give me a location."

Smokescreen pressed his lips together stubbornly. "If you storm in there you'll just make the situation worse. Blue will despise me for telling you. He'll despise you for ruining it. You sure you want that to happen?"

"You have a better alternative?" Prowl demanded after he had carefully processed what Smokescreen was saying,

Smokescreen exhaled audibly from his vents. "Look," he began. "Let Bluestreak do his thing. It's not as if he's going to get Soundwave to magically bond with him anyway. So when it's all over, he'll just let Soundwave go about his merry way and come back home. He'll be sad, yeah but he's got good friends to help him get over it."

"That doesn't change what he's done—"

"And what are you going to do about it?" There was a loud scrape as Smokescreen planted both his pedes on the floor and leaned forward, pushing the chair across the floor in the process. "Report him? Throw him in the brig indefinitely?"

"I know Soundwave is a 'Con but the lack of consent is another issue here," Jazz seriously remarked.

It was another aspect of the courtship tradition that non-Praxians couldn't wrap their processors around. Under old Praxian law, such lines immediately blurred whenever the courtship card was brought up. It was part of their culture and in fact, it was an even greater offence to interfere with a Praxian's ongoing courtship.

"The tradition…" Prowl trailed off there for a moment, like he had ran out of excuses to explain their bizarre Praxian ways. "The tradition was… _is_ part of official Praxian law. This is why other city-state citizens could never charge their suitors for rape. It never stuck because it was all legal as part of the courtship ritual. Furthermore, if the suitor is granted permission from his guardians then the guardians are also liable. For example if Bluestreak gets charged for rape, then both you and I would be charged as well and Smokescreen would be brought down as an accomplice. Something like that would be disastrous."

It went without saying that the Autobots could not afford to lose their two key officers.

Smokescreen gave Prowl an exasperated look. "Unfortunately the kid fell for Soundwave. We're both Praxians. You know damn well how the tradition works. There's nothing we can do about it but let things run their course."

Then Jazz pointed something else. "Megatron will notice his finest officer's gone. He's gonna be callin' us wanting answers. I'm surprised he hasn't yet."

At that, Prowl looked pained. "I suppose we'll have to inform Optimus – if and when Megatron calls."

Smokescreen balked at the notion. "Can't we not tell him anything? We can pretend Megatron's being delusional," he lamely suggested.

"We won't be able to hide something like this from him forever. No. It's best that Optimus knows what's going on," Prowl decided before pausing. "I'll trust his judgement on the matter."

In other words it'll be a fucking catastrophe. With that final, dismal thought in his mind, Smokescreen pushed himself out of the chair.

"I'll let you two decide," he announced.

Both Jazz and Prowl gave him dark, disapproving looks – either because Smokescreen had confirmed their worst fears with Bluestreak or because he had helped with the whole thing. He didn't really care what they thought of him at that moment.

"When are you expecting contact?" he heard Prowl ask just as he reached for the door's console.

"Probably later tonight."

"I want detailed transcripts from now on and status updates."

Smokescreen smacked his palm against the console and the door opened with a soft _whoosh_. "Sure thing," he called out over his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

"What are you fighting for?" the Autobot randomly asked him.

Soundwave had been held captive for two solar-cycles already. By now, his arms were feeling stiff from the constant restraints and the part of his processor that handled the telepathy felt numb from the inhibitor device. He tried numerous times to rip it off but it was wedged so deeply underneath the plating of his helm that there was no way he could get at it with the restraints in place. Paradoxically, the rest of his body felt loose and well-rested. No doubt from all the overloads Bluestreak had forced onto him.

When Bluestreak didn't get an answer from Soundwave, he decided to fill in the silence with his own tale.

"It was the Autobots that found me when the building collapsed on top of me. Right after you guys destroyed Praxus that is. I had the choice of staying a Neutral and hoping I'd escape safely with the rest of the refugees in the other city-states but I was so angry with the Decepticons. At first it was about revenge—"

Soundwave immediately spied an opening in Bluestreak's words. "Autobot's reason for kidnapping me: revenge."

Bluestreak quickly held his hands up and even had the gall to look horrified at the prospect. "No, no! I was angry _then_. I'm not angry now."

Normally, Soundwave would disregard most of Bluestreak's attempts for conversation. But now he was interested and the red in his visor narrowed with predatory intent. "I was instrumental in Praxus' demise," he declared, hoping to twist the metaphorical knife a little bit more.

That made the young Praxian pause. His hands dropped back down onto his lap and he sighed.

"I know what you're doing," Bluestreak said with a low, serious tone. "And it isn't going to work. Even if you are telling the truth, I still don't care. You were following Megatron's orders…it isn't as if you had some personal vengeance against Praxus."

Bluestreak was right. Soundwave had no emotional attachment to Praxus – good or bad. Praxus was just another city-state that stood in Megatron's way.

"I would have joined the Decepticons you know, if it came down to it," Bluestreak continued. "Equality for all. No poverty, no corruption. That's what you guys were supposed to be about in the beginning. But what Megatron wants is all for himself, doesn't he? I'm not sure I'd want to follow a leader who likes to murder those who stand in his way, defenceless or not."

"Autobot victory: my immediate execution. Reinstating of original Cybertronian order," Soundwave said.

Bluestreak by now, could distinguish the small differences of tone in Soundwave's artificial monotone. He wasn't perfect at it yet but even now he could tell just how flat Soundwave had sounded there. As if he really believed that would be his fate.

"You're wrong," Bluestreak firmly told him.

He stood up from where he had been sitting on a small folding chair next to the berth. Soundwave watched with a guarded expression as Bluestreak knelt down onto the berth and wedged himself between his legs.

"Optimus Prime is _not_ like that. He believes all of us should have a second chance at life. Even Decepticons. Even Megatron," Bluestreak insisted.

Soundwave stubbornly averted his gaze. Just looking into those earnest bright, bright blue optics was uncomfortable enough.

"No, please don't look away!" Bluestreak gently took Soundwave's chinguard in his hand and forced him to look back up. "If Megatron could just call for a ceasefire. Even agreeing to talk without fighting could lead to peace. Aren't you tired of fighting?"

Soundwave hissed at the Autobot's childish hope that the Decepticons would not be tried for their war crimes. A good chunk of them had been criminals to begin with. And Megatron was too far gone for peace.

"What is _wrong_ with you," Soundwave managed to sputter out.

Bluestreak reared back, offended. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm tired of constantly getting shot at. I'm tired of this war. I'm tired of constantly waking up alone with only my own nightmares for company."

"And yet you chose me," Soundwave flatly said.

How Bluestreak came to the ludicrous conclusion that Soundwave would be a good mate was beyond him.

"I can't help my attraction for you," Bluestreak softly replied, suddenly appearing rather shy – much to Soundwave's contempt. "Like said before, I've been admiring you for a long time. I'd find myself thinking about you. Everything about you turns me on so much."

Since Soundwave wasn't much for conversation, silence reigned for a long moment once again. They both gazed at each other; Soundwave with his steady, red stare and Bluestreak with his bright optics.

 _Say something. React_ , those optics begged. _Anything._

Instead, Soundwave let his helm loll back against the pillow that Bluestreak had propped up for him. He took his time to process Bluestreak's words so far; first replaying them again in his mind for underlying meanings, then wondering, for the umpteenth time, why Bluestreak didn't choose one from his own faction. It just defied logic and Soundwave was tired. Tired of trying to make sense of this weird situation.

Bluestreak must have gotten impatient from Soundwave's lack of interaction so he made his move by lightly placing his hand on the inside of Soundwave's thigh. The thigh twitched, as if to shake the offending servo off its plating.

"So…do you still want to kill me?" Bluestreak tentatively asked.

The light in Soundwave's visor barely flickered as he pondered on the question. It took only a millisecond for him to realise that no, he didn't want to kill the Autobot.

Not this time around.

Because now that he was thinking about it, Soundwave found himself feeling rather disappointed that it wasn't the high-ranking Prowl who had kidnapped him instead. Not the lower-ranking sniper. Soundwave would have been able to take great advantage of the situation, had that been the case. Still, nothing was unsalvageable. Not even this predicament.

"New assessment," Soundwave finally replied.

Bluestreak's doorwings swung upwards from the surprise. "What changed…your assessment?"

"Autobot: sees himself as a suitable suitor. Assessment change: curiosity. Amusement."

It wasn't the answer Bluestreak was seeking. But it was something. A change of spark.

"And it's my job to change your mind and to make you want me as much as I want you," Bluestreak said with a certain determined edge to his tone.

Soundwave made an exhalation through his vents, as if to say 'hah, sure whatever' but Bluestreak wasn't a bot that was easily deterred. He leaned forward, now placing both palms on the insides of Soundwave's thighs.

"Let me play with you," Bluestreak beseeched as he rubbed the pads of his thumbs up along Soundwave's codpiece, right on his interface panel. "Open for me."

Soundwave stared steadily into his captor's face. "Convince me."

It was a tough task but Bluestreak shrugged and gave an easy smile. "You know what would be fun?" he asked as he reached into his subspace. "If we played with this."

Soundwave half-heartedly glared at the interfacing toy Bluestreak was held out towards him like a lewd offering. It was a dildo; medium-sized, smooth with a rounded tip and a magnetic-lock base.

"Panel: closed," Soundwave stated.

Bluestreak continued to smile and magnetised the toy's base down onto Soundwave's panel, right where his own capped spike resided underneath.

 "I wasn't kidding when I said I'd love to ride you. But—" The young sniper sighed dramatically, "—you're being rather difficult right now. So maybe you'd like it if I showed you what you'd be getting instead?"

There was nothing to say, especially after the low _snick_ of Bluestreak retracting his own panel. He reached down, hand moving past his recessed spike so that he could touch his valve instead. Soundwave watched as Bluestreak played with his protective folds, fingers toying and pulling at them until they eventually became engorged with arousal. Then he shifted until he was straddling Soundwave's upper thighs, bringing his hips forward and tilting them up so that the toy's length was pressing up against his bare valve. The folds parted around the dildo's shaft and with a coquettish flicker of his optics, Bluestreak began to rub himself against it.

"This could be you," Bluestreak sweetly whispered with a soft giggle and there, he sounded very much like those call-mechs who used to advertise themselves through vid-screens back on Cybertron, before the war.

Soundwave's hands clenched so tightly that the tips of his claws scraped against the insides of his palms. It was annoying how the little Autobot was blatantly teasing him – two fingers pushing back his folds to show off a small opening that anyone with a healthy libido would want to penetrate.

Nevertheless, the foreplay didn't last long. Bluestreak winked at him and slowly lowered himself onto the toy. The rim of his opening resisted just a little before stretching wide enough for the tip to slide past. He inhaled loudly, lips moving wordlessly as he began to sink down. Bit by bit, Bluestreak's valve swallowed the dildo until it was mostly hilted inside him.

"That feels—"

Soundwave didn't let him. He spitefully jerked his body, interrupting whatever inane thing Bluestreak was going to say. It was the only thing he could do, bound on that berth with a perverse parody of an interfacing act happening right on his own lap. The cuffs around his wrists clanked with the wall behind him and the sudden buck of his hips made Bluestreak moan loudly.

"Cease your pointless game," Soundwave ordered. Even his monotone mod couldn't keep up with the sheer growling in his voice.

"—feels so good!"

Soundwave tried to dislodge Bluestreak off his body but it was like he was willingly thrusting up into the other mech, spurning him on. So he decided to remain completely still, not wanting to encourage Bluestreak even more.

"Soundwave: _not_ a toy," the Decepticon seethed.

Bluestreak leaned forward and placed his hands on Soundwave's chest. "No, I'm showing you what you could have," he crooned.

It was impossible for Soundwave to avert his gaze from the sight of someone pleasuring himself on his own body, without his permission. He watched masochistically as Bluestreak fucked himself on that infernal toy, watching it slide in and out of that sucking hole between those red thighs. Doorwings bounced with every movement and the moans did horribly arousing things to him. He was not asexual, contrary to what the others thought. And the Autobot was attractive. Very attractive.

The more Soundwave watched, the more he growled. The monotone mod couldn't keep up with his growling, causing him to spit out static. He slid his mask back.

"Take off the inhibitor and I shall make you scream," the telepath promised hoarsely.

Bluestreak faltered there, thrown off guard by Soundwave's unmasked face and whether the promise meant pleasure or pain.

"Your panel," the younger mech insisted.

Once again, Soundwave violently twisted his body and Bluestreak fell forward onto him with a surprised _mmph!_ sound. He latched his fingers onto the gold trim of Soundwave's chestplate for a better grip and looked up into Soundwave's face, where he could see burning optics from behind the visor. Then the Decepticon's mouth curled into a sneer, exposing needle-sharp denta.

"Unbind me and I shall show you what it means to scream out my name, Autobot," Soundwave whispered.

Bluestreak panted as he tightened his fingers on the other mech's chestplate. _Oh Primus._ Soundwave's sudden change in manner was making him wetter – more than he wanted to admit to himself. He could feel the heat rising from Soundwave's chassis, right underneath his hands. The fake spike was on the verge of slipping out of his valve. Bluestreak squeezed himself around it to keep it inside and moved his hips, groaning softly when it slowly filled him up again. He sat up straighter and arched his back. The new position caused the toy to dig up against his inner walls and as he rocked his hips back into a rhythm he could enjoy, he looked directly into Soundwave's face.

Soundwave's stare was riveted exclusively onto him, the red light dark and smouldering. It made Bluestreak feel as if he was burning from the inside out.

"Oh Soundwave," Bluestreak moaned and felt his valve starting to clench tighter with the building overload. "Even with a toy you feel amazing."

Soundwave's capped spike ached dully, frustratingly so. He wished for the cuffs around his wrists to magically disappear so that he could show the Autobot the difference between a stupid interfacing toy and a _real_ spike. He grit his denta when Bluestreak abruptly _thunked_ down hard onto his pelvis to grind the toy in deep and threw his head back, gasping out sharply. Pleasure flooded the younger mech's energy field as he overloaded. Then he collapsed with a moan all over Soundwave.

"I don't know why you're fighting it," Bluestreak murmured close to Soundwave's lips. "You know I can take care of it for you."

Soundwave refused to speak.

But they both knew that Bluestreak's performance had affected Soundwave. Bluestreak knew just by looking at the Decepticon's face and by the heat emanating from his tied-up chassis. Knowing that Soundwave was now slick and needy behind his still-closed panel. With hopefully one last hidden ace hidden underneath his plating, Bluestreak lifted his hips up so that the toy could slip out. He deactivated the magnetic lock at the toy's base to detach it from Soundwave's panel.

"This could be you," Bluestreak reiterated before he opened his mouth wide and tilted his chin back.

Soundwave's lips tightened. Bluestreak deep-throated the whole thing, bit by bit of the lubricant-stained toy disappearing past his lips and down his throat. Neck cables flexed as they tried to swallow the intrusion but Bluestreak was talented at keeping his gag reflex at bay, despite there being a slight, visible bulge from where the toy's tip dug against his tubing.

But that still didn't open Soundwave's panel and Bluestreak was beginning to feel frustrated. He smacked his palm lightly on Soundwave's chestplate.

"Why are you fighting me? I can feel just how turned-on you are!" he demanded. "Why are you insisting with this, this… _stubbornness!"_

Soundwave's wide mouth curled upwards. "Autobot: giving up?"

The young sniper's doorwings shot up. " _Never_."

This time Soundwave didn't protest when Bluestreak shimmied himself down his pelvis and forced his thighs apart. He bowed down and pressed his lips against the flat underside of the interface panel so that he could leave behind soft kisses along the warm metal. While Soundwave no doubt could feel the slight pressure of his mouth, it still wouldn't be enough to coax his panel open. Bluestreak lowered himself further and he encouraged Soundwave to bend one leg further backwards to widen the gap between thigh and pelvis. It exposed Soundwave's strong muscle cables, along with the edges of his protoform from underneath the thicker thigh plating.

It was an erogenous zone that not many paid attention to. The gap wasn't wide enough for Bluestreak to fit his face through but his glossa was long and flexible enough to reach the cables inside. Soundwave's unique taste was strong on his oral receptors and the remnants of lubrication grease filled his mouth as he swiped along the interlocking gear mechanism.

Soundwave had never experienced the sensation of anyone licking along his main muscle cable. It tensed, making his leg spasm, and Bluestreak pressed on to slather more oral fluids onto it until it glistened in the air. As Bluestreak concentrated his efforts on both of Soundwave's thigh gaps, his engine began to softly purr. And when the tips of Bluestreak's fingers stroked along a protoform edge, Soundwave pushed his chest out and widened his thighs to receive more pleasure. There was no mistaking Soundwave's hot smell of arousal. Its potency made Bluestreak's body charge up all over again for more.

Soundwave remembered what Bluestreak said before. _"You were always in control. Never losing it, never floundering… Megatron's nothing without you supporting him in the background.  Who does everything for him? You, you, you. You run the Decepticons for him. He's nothing without you."_

Yes, the Decepticon decided to himself. This was a grand opportunity to take advantage of a naïve, attractive Autobot. Pity about his bound arms and the telepathy-inhibitor but if he played his cards right, all that would be gone once Bluestreak was reeled into his game.

"Are you ready to give up?" Bluestreak asked.

"For…now," Soundwave replied.

Bluestreak excitedly grinned when he heard Soundwave's panel finally retracting. He pushed forward, spike springing out enthusiastically in the open air.

_"I'd take such good care of you. Watch over you, protect you forever. Worship and pleasure you. Get to know you…"_

Bluestreak had assumed right. Soundwave's valve didn't give his spike any resistance at all – not with how well lubricated it was. Soundwave went with it, uncaring now that he had a slowly formulating plan of action for securing his and his symbiotes' future.


End file.
